


products of soul city! ☽

by estim8te



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angel!Yeosang, Angst, Death, Demon!Seonghwa, Fluff, Gen, Grim Reapers, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Nerdiness, Reaper!Wooyoung, Soft Choi San, Tragedy/Comedy, Violence, Witches, kitty hwa, puppy yunho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26552176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estim8te/pseuds/estim8te
Summary: Don’t blame Wooyoung. He had a 𝙦𝙪𝙤𝙩𝙖 to meet!
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	1. Jambalaya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (warning: death talk, but you knew that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha this was supposed to be a holloween thing but i know myself; if i don’t write it now i’ll lose the idea lolololol

Choi San considered himself one of the unluckiest motherfuckers on the planet.

The craziest part was, he came to that conclusion purely based on the last week-and-a-half.

For the past few days, it seemed like all the bad luck and misfortune that should’ve afflicted a man over the course of his whole life had crashed down onto San with the swiftness comet, as violent as a heart attack. 

San bombed two exams, accidentally pissed off his sister, and cheated death about four times. 

It was such bad luck that it was good. Kind of impressive, really, astonishing.

The first instance had been trivial; of course, that’s how they always start. It kind of reminded him of the time he choked when his roommate Mingi had shoved his tongue down his throat. 

Yes; it was a dare. 

No; they don’t speak of it. 

San was happy at that time, before his life flashed before his eyes. He was giddy to indulge himself in greasy comfort food that’d only make him feel glad for a fleeting moment before the feeling of ‘holy shit, I’m a fucking failure’ dawned on him. With a pizza at his left and a Coca-Cola at his right, in that brief moment before the storm, he felt quite alright.

That is, until he started choking till he was blue in the face.

The pizza cheese had been so elastic, so cheesy and stringy that it refused to be chewed. San fought to get it to a mush safe enough to swallow! The only thing making up for the aggressive texture of the dairy was the savory taste of pepperoni and warmth of the bread. Say what you want, but San could critique food. He had the taste for it, you could say. 

You could _not_ say he had the taste for choking on a piece of cheese! He was home alone too; what a shameful way to go! Mingi would come back from the library, or from his other buddy’s house, or from the convenience store and see San’s ashen body laid out on the ground, the only trace of life being his glossy, grease-stained lips. 

Yikes. 

Embarrassing. 

_Ultra_ embarrassing.

So San fought the pizza, chugging the coke out of the bottle like he was drivin’ the boat to glory. 

Fortunately, he survived—not that this was a story worth telling. So he kept his mouth shut.

But that wasn’t the end of his troubles.

— ✥ —

The Tuesday after that whole incident, San had to go to the library. He was lucky enough to have a STEM genius as his roommate, but Mingi wasn’t exactly the greatest help with essays—which was weird; the guy rapped in his free time, meaning he wrote. He should’ve been a prose god! So when San wasn’t wrestling formulas out of Mingi and trading math homework for chores, he went to the library for essay assistance… and San liked to walk. 

He walked this same street every other Tuesday, but today it just _had_ to be spicy!

Wrapped in a thick scarf and huddled within his monstrous hoodie, San made his way to the library with his backpack slung over his shoulder and phone in hand, scrolling through his playlist of illegally downloaded hits.

‘What’ by Dreamcatcher blasted in his ears, and he hummed along to it, occasionally opening his lips to sing into his wooly scarf.

“What! What! What! What! 나를!” He sings a bit too passionately for someone just strolling down the block. He doesn’t quiet down since the streets are pretty empty and he’s catching a vibe. _Carpe diem._ “What! What! What! What! 깨워!”

When it comes time for him to cross the road, he steps onto the painted crosswalk without thinking, too caught up in his make-believe music video in which he’s a magical girl to sense any real-world danger. 

He feels someone yank him back forcefully, and it’s only then he sees the speeding car that was seconds away from hitting him. The driver dashed with enough speed to lift San’s hair; she sped like a windstorm, chattering on her phone about whatever-the-fuck. She didn’t even notice the living boy she was about to shatter.

“Oh my God!” San shouts his default English phrase, quickly about facing to thank his earthly savior. He bows, eyes shut in shame because who forgets the most _basic_ rule? Look both ways, doofus. “Thank you so much. I shouldn’t have been so careless.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” the voice says awkwardly, and it’s a familiar voice. Not high but not deep, definitely masculine, even, and youthful.

San carefully raises his head.

It was of course, Choi Jongho; one of the school’s beloved athletes. He was first division everything! 

And he even had the nerve to be in choir and be _good!_

 _And_ he was friendly! 

He was in San’s math class—or more like, San was in _his_ math class since he flunked last year. But even besides that, the older has seen him at the gym a few times and he was always spotting for some cool older guys and giggling at their jokes like some squeeze-me teddy bear.

Seriously, how many talents can one simultaneously puny and beefy freshman have? 

Sociable, athletic, _and_ he had pipes? 

Maybe he was secretly insane? Hopefully. It was probably true since he was friends with Mingi and Yunho... and he associated with San from time to time which was a valid criteria of insanity in his book.

Still, San was thankful and he couldn’t just let the sweetly intimidating freshman slip out of his grasp without a proper gesture of appreciation. 

“Can I like, buy you lunch or something? You did just practically save my life—I should get you something,” San offers, praying his wallet wasn’t totally dry. 

“Oh, now that I’m your savior you owe me a favor?” Jongho teased with a grin that knocked fifteen years off his age. 

Silly gummy bear heroic baby.

He had the audacity to be cute, too? Unbelievable. Unfair. San wanted to squish him. So nice and dumb and sweet and _songbirdy._ Fresh out of high school, too, his brain adds.

Savior… favor…

“Sure,” San agreed, even though the freshman was clearly joking. “What do you need?”

The boy was a bit taken aback, but suddenly remembered. “Do you know how to get to the Dr. Lee Myungjo Building from here?”

“You mean the Academy of Science building?” 

The boy bites his lip as he unsurely responds, “Yes?”

“Follow me.” And so his essay assistance meet-up be damned. “But seriously, at least let me buy you McDonald’s or something. I’m broke but very grateful.”

— ✥ —

The third vice that gripped him by the throat was getting stung by some out-of-season herculean super bee.

San wasn’t even _allergic,_ but for some reason his body overreacted to the bumblebee’s assault. It _should’ve_ been a slight pain in his ass but nothing some cream couldn’t fix in a single day. Yet it felt like his entire body was lit on fire and he was reduced to nothing but a sluggish blob. He felt hot and cold at the same time, sick in a way that was too jarring for words.

He was lucky that some panicked girls noticed him slumped on a bench and called an ambulance. 

The medics predicted anaphylaxis—a severe allergic reaction, they quickly explained him; but San wasn’t even allergic!

His blood pressure was low, his head was spinning, and he was hot on the inside, apparently cold on the outside. Probably because of the low blood pressure and his silly brain.

It did not feel great, not even the tiniest bit; but once he was in the hands of a few doctors, it resolved itself within twenty-four hours and he was given a sort of official prognosis—a sudden bee allergy.

Evidently, some people’s allergies show up later, and this was one of them.

That sucked for him. Now he had more reasons to fear bugs and less reasons to go outdoors.

— ✥ —

The fourth attack on San’s wellbeing was probably the stupidest of them all.

The most cartoonish.

Most outlandish.

Most Looney Tunes-esque, one could argue.

It would’ve been more believable if an anvil had dropped out of the skies and cracked his skull into billions of little brain bits on the floor.

San had applied for a new job. He had quit his last one because of the laborious schedule—but he also had a deep-seated hatred for that job that spawned practically as soon as he had started; he just needed a proper way out. It had taken a whole month of applying at random organizations and franchise restaurants for someone to get back to him, and he wasn’t going to miss his chance now.

That’s how San finds himself skipping class one beautiful morning, to catch a ride downtown. 

He stopped the taxi a whole block away so he could pinch just a few pennies, and he decided to walk the rest of the way since he still had a good amount of time.

San wasn’t too out of place at this hour, he was just another gray-faced college kid rushing to his next class. He practically floated on the sidewalk, sidestepping gray-faced office workers rushing to their cubicles with half a biscuit in their mouths and a phone held between their shoulder and ear. 

So San scrolled through his phone dutifully, looking up interview tips and all the right buzzwords to make him the perfect hire. 

It’s precisely why his heart practically jumps out of his chest when he hears a loud crash and the confusing, harsh wail of a single piano key.

He freezes in his steps, almost sure he was frozen completely in shock if not for the raging punches his heart was dealing in his chest. Times stands still as everyone in his immediate vicinity is stunned immobile as well.

“A piano!” He finally exclaims, almost angrily, having dropped his phone on the concrete. 

Good thing it didn’t crack, or else he would’ve _really_ cried.

Still, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Are you okay?” One woman asks carefully, clad in a monochrome pantsuit with her manicured motherly hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t get hit, did you? Can you hear me?”

San looks at her and almost bursts into tears. “I,” he strains to look away from her eyes, up at the clouds, at the destroyed piano in the middle of the sidewalk, at the faulty bungee cord that was lifting it—the stupid, godforsaken _shoestring_ snapped in half— “I’m fine.” He says after taking a necessary breath, “Totally fine. N-Not even a scratch.”

It _did_ land a few feet away. 

He was fine; shaken to the core but otherwise totally healthy and unharmed by flying bits of piano shrapnel and wood. He was fine.

That woulda coulda been a big gore fest.

“Are you sure?” The angelic lady presses, probably more for her peace of mind than the student’s wellbeing. “I can take you to a hospital. Just in case. You might be fine now but that could just be the adrenaline kicking in, you know?”

San smiles at her, still trying his best to keep eye contact at a minimum since this whole ordeal was beyond embarrassing. It was humiliation to a divine degree! It had to be some sort of punishment and he didn’t need this poor woman seeing that. Still, it’s incredibly difficult to avoid eye contact with someone who’s your exact height in three-inch heels.

“No thanks, I’m okay,” he reassured her. “I appreciate it though.”

Needless to say, he doesn’t do so well at the interview and his mind continues to race a mile a minute. _Backwards._

That night, he tells Mingi everything, mixing it up in a well-cooked jambalaya of information.

The giant had known random little tidbits, and freaked when a bee sting sent San to the hospital and not _him,_ but after the wave of mysterious coincidences aimed at terminating San, he complied a few theories.

With a Ritz cracker in his mouth and his glasses crookedly hanging onto his nose, he poses, “Could be a curse. Or like, someone really sinister and really, really, _really_ bored made a Sannie doll and keeps poking at it.”

“And how would we destroy it?” San whines, surprised at himself for actually entertaining the voodoo doll theory. “This blows.”

“If you destroy the doll, it’d probably kill you. Those things are like, spiritually connected, so, y’know.”

Neither of them could believe the conversation they were having.

“Seriously, I don’t know what it is—once is happenstance, right? Twice is coincidence… _Four_ times, Min, _four!_ Someone’s out to get me! I didn’t even _do_ anything!”

“Don’t say that! If someone’s got a hit on you then I’m in danger by association!” Mingi reasons selfishly. “You must’ve done some fuckshit in your past life and I want no parts of it.”

He was trying to lift San’s spirits with the joking insults but it wasn’t working; in fact, it kind of backfired, and San imploded right there on their shitty excuse of a living room floor.

“I’m serious, Mingi. I’m scared. What if something happens to me and I don’t get lucky?” San toys with his fingers in his lap, a subtle sign of panic. “What if someone really is after me?”

“Don’t talk like that,” his roommate urges. “No one’s after you. You didn’t do anything to anybody.” 

The paranoia was weighing on his mind like a heavy, unwanted crown.

“I watch crime shows,” San grimaces, “Sometimes you don’t _have_ to do anything.”

Mingi, stumped for once in his life, had nothing to say to that. Instead, he sympathetically offers the other student some crackers, which he graciously accepts.

Comfort food was a universal cure-all, curing all without having to cure at all.

— ✥ —

A few days later, San is fortunate enough to get a do-over interview. 

He was shameless enough to beg and whine for another chance with that company because he could actually function _really_ well as an intern there—he just had a traumatic near-death experience clouding his brain. 

There was no honor amongst the broke and San would happily beg this same company ten times over until he finally got the job.

He told them it was a car almost hitting him that had him frazzled that day, because if he would’ve said the real culprit—a fallen piano—they probably would’ve blocked him and shredded his résumé then and there.

Thus, today as he’s headed for trial two, he thinks about everything he remembers them asking from last time and he tries to sprinkle in a few pick-me boosters in there as well. Now he’s uber confident. Any question they throw at him, he’ll have a proper answer; an outstanding one at that. Hell, for every statement, he’ll hit back with a well-timed comment. 

He’s trying to cash a check.

He takes the taxi all the way to the door of the building this time because he’s _not_ insane; he will _not_ walk the same road twice expecting different results, even if the odds of another piano raining out of the sky is just as rare as the first.

As he maps his way through the pristine business-formal environment that totally wasn’t his schtick, San feels a chill run through his spine and a sudden weight on his back that hurts with the force of a—he hates to say it—grand piano.

A dark energy swarms around him and it takes every ounce of his being not to throw up on the impeccable marble floor.

San’s entire body cringes and he takes that as his signal to rush to the elevator, briskly walking as to not cause any suspicion, since no one around him seems to be bothered by the same entity.

“Why, why, why, why,” he mutters, looking over his shoulder and actually seeing a fucking _figure_ —a shadow man staring him down, unmoving, yet somehow immeasurably fast. His ‘why’s’ get more frantic. “Oh shit.” 

San dips into a corner of the building he has never been in, weaving through the halls. 

He sees a bathroom, but if he hides there, he could be cornered.

Yet if he keeps running, he could be caught. 

As San walks, still hypersensitive to the creep hot on his tail, the lights flicker above him, and the few people that were floating around this secluded hallway all but disappear, vanishing in the blink of an eye.

San feels suffocated. 

He glances over his shoulder one last time, trying to face his fear with nothing but guts and gall, but he squeaks like a tiny, insignificant mouse when he’s practically nose-to-nose with his masked stalker.

“Why the _fuck,”_ he snaps through the leather mask, chains on his body shaking as he spoke surprisingly clear, “are you making this so difficult?” 

The man is slightly shorter than San, but right now his presence was elephantine, crushing San under its immense weight. 

_What did he do?_

His eyes trail to the other’s hand, seemingly toying with an object, spinning it.

A death scythe.

San has watched enough cartoons and enough anime and enough Halloween specials to know what a scythe was and what it represented. But it was only September! This guy wasn’t playing around.

It was almost… _pretty;_ a humongous, glistening scythe that had a curved, witchy-looking blade with a serrated edge, perfect for scratching through skin even if he misfired. The man handled it like it was light as air and heavy as a bag of bricks at the same time. Honestly, it was kind of phallic. 

It was as tall as the man in the black fedora himself, and added an extra footstep, heavier than his entire body somehow.

“Leave me alone.” San tried, keeping his voice steady despite pressing himself into the tiled wall.

“No!” The other complains loudly, almost like a child. “Your soul is mine! You’ve been making this job a whole lot harder than it has to be; for Death’s sake, I have a quota to meet!”

 _For Death’s sake?_

_What did that even mean?_

“Are you supposed to be… a grim reaper?” 

Not the dumbest question he’s ever asked.

“Ding, ding, ding!” The reaper says with inappropriate glee, “I thought this big old thing would give it away.” He spins the hefty, phallic scythe in his hand, running the other along the adornments on his jacket. “If not the scythe, at least all the leather black and the thick-ass war boots should’ve. Now will you please do me a favor and die already?”

“Die?” San sputters incredulously. “Hell no, I’m not gonna die because you… because you _asked nicely_ —I’ve got _shit_ to do, Mister… Mister?”

“You can call me Wooyoung—Jung Wooyoung—reaper of the sixth sect,” he sighs, and his face mask puffs a bit as he does. “Listen man, I don’t know who your guardian angel is, but they’re doing a damn good job. Death’s not a bad deal, though, trust me! I can’t spill all the juicy details while you’re still in the Land of the Living but I can definitely give you a cool rundown after I harvest your soul and relocate it.”

San shudders. “Harvest?”

_Relocate?_

“Yes! Now without further ado,” the reaper giggles, ripping off his mask to reveal a red-stained mouth, “Please, help me reach my quota! Just one more!”

Wooyoung takes a generous step back, then he swings the scythe.

San squeezes his eyes shut, waiting.

The blow never comes.

Instead he _hears_ the extra presence before he sees it, and it’s in the form of Wooyoung’s—Death’s—shrill voice, shaking with mirth and surprise, paired with the heavy clunking and clanging of the metal scythe hitting the hard ground.

“Yeosangie!” Wooyoung gasped, _“You’re_ his guardian? It’s been ages!”

San carefully opens one eye and almost passes out on the spot, patellas totally jellied and knees wholly useless at this point.

His so-called guardian angel, Yeosang, was being crushed in an overly-affectionate bear hug by the reaper who was just after his everlasting soul mere milliseconds ago.

 _Fuck,_ and San’s missed the interview.

“You almost had it, Woo,” Yeosang’s deep voice starts steadily, not even regarding the stunned human backed into a corner. He taunts the reaper; his old _buddy,_ his _amigo,_ his _pal_ of probably ten thousand years or something, “You’ve gotta be quicker than that.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the pizza thing actually happened to me once—it’s not fun 😬


	2. Roomies

“Okay,” Yeosang reluctantly starts with a nervous air to him. He hated the weird silence but even more than that, he hated that _he_ had to be the one to break it. They weren’t strangers, but they weren’t friends either; there were still lines and boundaries that held him back. They held him in place, tightly.

He was rigid and awkward in this fleshy human body but he had no choice if he wanted to blend in with the swarming crowd of people.

It felt different walking among them like this. He felt almost like a faker, an imposter.

It was all Wooyoung’s fault.

If Wooyoung hadn’t materialized, Yeosang wouldn’t have been forced to. 

_Okay,_ Angel Yeosang breathed.

“No, _not_ _okay_. You guys have to give me a good reason as to why I shouldn’t be screaming my head off right now,” San says, hands wrapped around his steaming, untouched coffee. 

Unfortunately, the human had to be the one to pay for the Starbucks. Yeosang felt bad for him, considering his mind was getting warped by the second and he still had to pick up the tab. But neither Yeosang nor Wooyoung had any money, and they weren’t exactly magicians to conjure some up. Their powers could only go so far, as grand as they were.

“For one,” Wooyoung says, pausing to take a long sip of his randomly-chosen coffee, “if you scream I have to rip your head off.”

San pales and Yeosang hears that familiar whimper he elicits whenever he’s lost a game.

“He’s joking,” the angel firmly interjects. “Look, San, this isn’t exactly ideal for any of us,” he glances at the reaper, “but this guy here made himself visible, and as your guardian angel, I’m tasked to keep you safe by all means until your scheduled death date. It’s not your time yet, but _death baby_ over here is determined to get you for some reason.” Yeosang rolls his eyes. “He forced me to think on the spot and that’s how I ended up showing myself.”

“Monster,” San responded dumbly.

Yeosang shrugs. “You’re not wrong.”

“Whatever, Yeosang, don’t act like you don’t like it. I brightened your whole century, I can see it all over your stoic face,” Wooyoung teases, “Plus, I finally took you out on that coffee date you’ve always wanted to go on. Might as well thank me. Do you like how it tastes?”

“You didn’t take him; if anything, I did. _I paid,”_ San huffs, balling his fists. “Why are you coming for my neck if I’m not supposed to… to pass?”

Wooyoung, behind his wavy black hair, stares at the human. The reaper notices his fuzzy sweater, then glances at the angel clad in a leather jacket. Here he sat, wearing a sleeveless top with a pentagram sprayed on it, not doing the greatest job of blending in at the cusp of autumn. 

“Listen, Choi San, it’s nothing personal. It’s just that I have a quota to meet. I have one more soul left and I’m work-free for like, the next decade. All of the scheduled passings have been accounted for and snatched by other reapers, so I had to cause one.”

 _“Cause_ one…”

“Yup, an untimely death.”

“But why’s it got to be me—why do that at _all?”_

“Reapers are attached to certain jurisdictions; we’re scattered in different corners of the world. I’m attached to South Korea specifically, where there’s six sects. The sixth sect is this province. I can’t kill or reap anywhere else, even if it is open season.” He frowns. “I hate that rule. It complicates things—but that’s only because Death has loads of kids to keep busy, so, whatever.”

_“Kids?”_

Yeosang chuckled at San’s confusion. San’s no expert but he doesn’t think it’s very angelic to bully someone—laughing at his misfortune as if this isn’t mind-bending, world-shattering news! 

He didn’t even look like a typical angel right now, though, more like a biker hanging out with his goth and pastel friend.

He—Angel Yeosang—strayed so far off the canon.

“Death, to put it simply, is my father. Father of all reapers actually. Just like how every living creature on Earth is a child of Life, the mother.” 

San glances at the angel who was swirling his biodegradable straw, watching the ice melt. 

“Where does that place you, then?”

“Angels are children of Good, demons are children of Evil. Altogether, that makes four basic factions.”

“So a reaper isn’t a demon? I thought…”

Wooyoung and Yeosang shake their heads. 

“Reapers are kinda like in-betweeners, with angel and demon characteristics. We’re neutral, just like life itself. And, of course, death. We’re all sort of interrelated, like one big, dysfunctional family.” Wooyoung smiles. “Fun, right?”

“Very.” San pauses. “So Yeosang, you’re not going to let him snatch my soul, right?”

Yeosang shook his head. “Nope. Not until it’s appropriate to do so, at least.”

“When’s that?” San asked.

Wooyoung nearly jumps, “Could be now—“

“Can’t tell you,” Yeosang interrupts the other, “It’s solely forbidden. But, you could try one of those online lifespan calculators to psych yourself out,” he smiles wickedly.

“No thanks…” San groans. “Wooyoung, why can’t you just wait for another timely death, huh? Those happen, like, every day.”

“I told you, most of them are out of range or being stolen by other reapers left and right.” The reaper paused. “Look, I don’t—I’m not attacking you just for the purpose of attacking you. A reaper’s job isn’t to _kill,_ we’re not killers. Under normal circumstances, I’m just supposed to guide your soul into the afterlife and help you adjust to your new form. But this—it just had to be like this.”

The boy frowns, dissatisfied with the reaper’s excuse. He was half-surprised he even got an explanation, even if it was unsatisfactory. 

“Well, do me a favor and miss me with the elaborate death traps, okay? Yeosang’s just gonna keep fighting you off anyway—that was you, right? Sending those people to my rescue?” San asks.

The angel just nods again. He seemed happy to be credited. His eyes shone. Cute.

“I begged Jongho’s guardian to push him in your direction. He had been walking in circles and passed your area a good four times. He wouldn’t have come back if I hadn’t done that—“

“I _really_ don’t want to miss my quota,” Wooyoung groans into his fingerless leather glove. “I’ll be in big trouble!”

The angel snorts. “What could scare you that bad if you’re a literal personification of death itself?”

“A lot of things… but the worst on the list, is missing my quota. It’s rare for reapers to miss their quota ‘cause everyone tries their damn hardest to avoid it! Reapers who miss their quota are never ever heard from again. They become something like an urban legend. I don’t know what it is that happens to them but I don’t want it.”

“Maybe it’s a thousand years of sorrow,” Yeosang suggests monotonously. The other two ogle at him in horror.

“I don’t want to deal with that—don’t even wanna imagine it—so if I can’t reap San’s soul, I’ll have to get some other student’s, then… Hopefully their angel’s slower.” Wooyoung says woefully.

His scythe appears, only to Wooyoung and Yeosang, but San hears it somehow, specifically honing in on the singing metal. It’s a faint sound, one that San’s heard whispering in the back of his mind for the past week, and can finally identify.

San doesn’t notice it changing shape, because his human eyes could only see what they were allowed to see.

But he did see Yeosang squint his eyes at some open air, as if he was reading. Then suddenly came the words, “Kim Hongjoong?”

“No, absolutely not!” San said, almost knocking over their cooling drinks. “How about you don’t reap anybody, huh?”

_Deal with the punishment; he could take it._

“Nope, I’m spinning the wheel again,” and Wooyoung flicks his finger, uttering another off-limits name. “Song Mingi?”

“Definitely not. Please no.” San begged. “It can’t be that hard to find a timely… passing. This city’s pretty big. A timely death is like, old people who’ve lived long, eventful lives with no regrets so… it’s like… a smooth transition… as painless as it can get. One of those. Wooyoung, just wait it out; I’ll give it a week tops.”

“I advise you to listen to the human, Wooyoung,” Yeosang urges, “because if you were gonna go about it the same way you went about San, you wouldn’t have succeeded anyway. You’d just end up with a whole army of angels on your tail and a bunch of humans who’ve seen too much ‘cause you’re _messy!”_

“Fine. But if I have to sit in this realm and play the waiting game, then I’m going to need a place to stay,” the reaper negotiates.

“Where have you been going when you’re not trying to forcibly rip my soul out of my body?” 

“Soul reaping isn’t that violent; oh whatever—I open a portal… to my home dimension. They take a lot of energy to open and usually are only opened when you’re absolutely _sure_ you’ve handled everything you needed to. I’ve been hopping in and out ‘cause of my… hm, dilemma.” The gothic spirit frowns again. “I can’t keep jumping back and forth.”

“And you, angel?”

Yeosang’s face reddened as the attention was drawn back on him again. 

He was used to being a knight hidden in the shadows. A silent warrior.

“Oh, um. I’m always here. Guardians are always with their humans, just invisible.” He smiles weakly, no longer having the slightly mean edge he did before.

 _“Always?_ Like _always_ always? Like even when I’m hypothetically beating off always?”

Yeosang’s eyes widen, nearly popping out of his head when Wooyoung starts cackling like a maniac, choking on the last sips of his lukewarm coffee. 

“No. No. It’s not hypothetical; you’re young and human. It’s a given. I let you have that moment of privacy. But I can never get too far. I’m bound to you.”

“Like jail?”

“Not _jail,”_ Yeosang emphasized, still meek. “It’s fun… nice. Except when dummies like this try to start something they can’t finish. Then it’s lame. But it’s not jail. It’s a contract; I should be able to count every breath you take in a day.”

“Wow. Can you?”

“Yeah, _dummy,”_ Wooyoung leans in, “can you?”

“The average is 18,720.”

“That’s amazing!” San raises his straw to his lips. “Also, kind of weird.”

— ✥ —

  
  


“Hi Mingi,” San greets with an exaggerated sweetness that usually meant a lot of forehead flicking for Mingi.

“Hi…” Mingi answers cautiously, voice deflating as he spotted the two new faces beside his roommate. “Who are they?”

“Hiya, Mingi. I’m Wooyoung,” the man extends a gloved hand.

Mingi shakes it politely but even he can feel the weird aura radiating off the other.

Yeosang stiffens as he forces himself to say hello.

Mingi looked so different from this angle. He wonders how Hwanwoong manages to guard someone so gangly. 

“These are some old friends of mine,” San says, letting the lie write itself. “They needed a place to stay and I just couldn’t say no.”

“But San we barely have any legroom here with just the two of us! Where are they going to sleep?”

“I don’t need to sleep,” the two spirits said airily with startling unity for such polar opposites.

They weren’t helping San’s case at all.

“Wooyoung doesn’t mind sleeping on the couch and Yeosang can sleep with me.”

“Okay… yeah,” Mingi agrees reluctantly.

Wooyoung was ready to complain. “What—“

San cuts him off, linking arms with his timid protector. “Yeah.”

“So Sannie,” Mingi smiles at him, tinted with hope. “Did you get the job?”

San wilts, like a flower sucked dry of its nutrients, dropping himself dramatically onto the couch. “No,” he groans into a pillow. “But I’ll get employed soon Minmin, trust me. I don’t like the thought of you doing all the work and I really don’t like being broke as a joke either!”

“Usually it’s not such a struggle for you,” the tall brunet says, puzzled. “People love you. They hire you like that,” he snaps his fingers.

“There’s been some bad luck over my head recently,” the boy glances at Wooyoung, who looks away. “But I think it’s over now.”

The reaper shifts the subject, folding his arms.

“What do you guys have in this house to chew on?”

Yeosang pries the reaper’s locked arms off his chest, forcing him to take a friendlier approach. He smiles buoyantly at San, who was still moping on the couch. 

“Can we have the sugary tteok?”

Mingi’s torn book falls out of his hands, the pencil perched on his ear gingerly flops off. 

“How’d you know we had tteokbokki? How’d you know it was too sugary?”

“Uh.” This was the part where genuine fear grew in Yeosang’s chest. He didn’t fear anything, any man _,_ any beast—but when it came to lying, his heart almost jumped out of his chest! It’s not like he could just tell the human he was the guardian angel of his best friend, and has known San his entire life. It’d bring up more questions; more confusion. And he didn’t want to fry Mingi’s brain the way they had almost destroyed San’s. “Um, I just… knew.”

The reaper slings a bare arm over the angel’s shoulder and Yeosang—though reluctant to admit it—finds it just the slightest bit comforting.

“You two look like the type—for that,” Wooyoung said, hoping they didn’t take offence. “Can we try some?”

Neither of them had a need to eat but the interest in food was there. They couldn’t use their tongues _just_ for talking—they were also deathly interested in tasting.

“Um, sure, I guess,” Mingi sighs, looking at San as if he was calling for help.

The supernatural duo casually made their way to the small kitchen, with Mingi eyeing them in wonder before his questioning eyes landed back onto his roommate.

Before he could even ask the questions that San knew were dancing in his brain, the other cuts in. 

“I had no choice.”

“So?”

San bites his inner cheek. “They’ll help with rent,” he tries.

The taller friend gives San a very insincere smile. It was his customer service smile. “If you say so.”


	3. Pleasantries

“Look, Wooyoung, I think it’s only fair that you get a job since you stole two chances away from me.”

They’d been having this back and forth for a hot minute now, both flaming in the confines of San’s square bedroom. Yeosang watched idly, amused but quiet. It had been going on long enough for Wooyoung to turn to his last defense: invisibility. The only problem was that Yeosang could see him and still subtly egged San on to press him.

So the human boy argued with the open air and was winning.

“Why are you excluding Yeosang?”

“Because he’s saved my ass from every near death experience I’ve ever had in my entire life; including the ones caused by you! Hello! Is it not clicking?” San huffs, folding his arms. “You job-blocked me from something I actually qualified for! Plus, he can’t leave my side anyway.”

That was not a hundred percent true, but it was safer if San thought so.

“Exactly. What type of guardian would I be if I left my charge running around defenselessly?” Yeosang states. “Come on now, Wooyoung. If you were out here hunting for vulnerable souls then who’s to say you’re the only one? If it wasn’t you, it could’ve _easily_ been someone else. Although... no one is as crazy as you... but _still,_ I’m not taking that chance.”

“I know you can travel outside of your San-bubble, angel. You’re just being annoying.”

“Frankly, I don’t give a damn about what annoys you. In fact, I love it,” the angel responds with divine candor.

Yeosang’s halo burns brightly above his head, an intimidating ring of light that clashed with Wooyoung’s gloomy demeanor. Wooyoung wears a habitual squint when looking at the ethereal being, but part of it is irritation.

San shudders at the thought of being hunted like a helpless mouse; but his point still stands. 

Yeosang was right. The more he thought about it, the further his brain would trail into a spiraling rabbit hole. 

He was starting to realize how insignificant and pointless everything really was. He, the ever-positive, oh-so-beloved Choi San, was having a crisis. He didn’t know what anything meant anymore. But he knew he wanted to preserve everything he had; the little crumb of life that was _his._ His friends, his family, his fatuous goals. Even if they were like tiny insects to the rest of the universe, San claimed them. But who was _he?_ Just another unremarkable human. What were humans without angels to protect them? And why were such powerful beings worried about the small humans anyway?

Insects.

Sure, he was here; but with that was it. In comparison to reapers and angels and demons and God knows whatever else, San was just a human. 

He was just a little boy apart of this outrageous universe.

All that beefing up he did after high school did nothing to hide the fact that he could never be the biggest and baddest. He was a puny, frail, mortal—very, very limited human _bean—_ who couldn’t stand the thought of these scarily inhuman things crawling after him.

But it only drove his point further. Yeosang was responsible for San. This little insect mattered to someone bigger, even if he was only a job to them. The angel couldn’t leave him.

“I don’t want to worry about one of your reaper cousins trying to snatch me by the ankles. And since you’re gonna be here for a week or two max, a little job just to hold over shouldn’t bother you so much. It’ll expose you to more souls and keep you busy. In the meantime, I have to look elsewhere because I’ll be damned if Mingi kicks me out for being broke.”

Wooyoung materializes behind San, who was facing a wall for the majority of his rant. The humanoid reaper taps the boy’s shoulder with an exasperated groan. 

San looks him in the eyes. The reaper’s irises were swarming with colors behind the clouds of darkness, looking almost like the skies of a stormy night. 

If death was so blank and dark, why were his eyes so turbulent?

“Fine,” he frowns with a sharp gaze, “but don’t expect me to like it.”

Yeosang, who generally looked softer than the other, yet equally as magnificent, stepped in, with his face and hands emanating a slight glow that would only burn brighter in his fully angelic form. He grabbed the reaper’s arm and shoved it off of San. Pointedly, he says, “Sannie doesn’t care what you like.”

The black-haired reaper sucks his teeth as he melodramatically plops onto the floor. 

“I hate it here. I wanna go home.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I have to do retail when I could’ve been taking editorial photos,” the human gripes. “I’m going on Indeed.”

— ✥ —

Yunho soon invited himself into San and Mingi’s apartment, as he often does.

Yunho smartly crafted his schedule so he’d only take about one class a day, and because of that, he had ample time to pass each one with flying colors and additional time to slack off and bother SanMingki when his roommate, the ever-busy Jongho, was unavailable.

Whenever Yunho swung by, he’d come with games, food, or an interesting story. He was never a bore and never a bad guest, always carrying something in his huge hands.

“Hey, Yuyu,” San greeted with a routine smile. “You know Mingi won’t be back for another three hours.”

“I know but I needed to talk to someone about this and I didn’t want it to be over the phone,” the blond shrugs, stepping inside. “Who are they?”

San, so used to Yunho treating this place like a second home, didn’t even remember his estranged guests. 

He panicked, face contorting into a mess of choked words before he finally said, “These are my cousins.”

Wooyoung snorts, Yeosang bites his tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

“Cousins?” Yunho says, intrigued. “You guys look nothing alike. Usually cousins would look more alike than siblings.”

San rolls his eyes. “Cousins through marriage.”

“I’m Kang Yeosang,” the angel extends a hand.

Yunho takes it, and his arm subtly jolts, like he’d been hit with a minor shock. A smile blooms on his lips. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“I’m Wooyoung!” The reaper smiles, all teeth and lips and beautiful birthmark.

Yunho smiles back like the lovesick Cupid-incarnate he is.

“Well, Yeosang, Wooyoung... I guess I could use an outside opinion on this. Or else I’ll think I’m developing dementia.”

San giggles, “Yunho, why would you be developing dementia?”

“You’re like, twenty-one,” the reaper scoffs. 

Ripe enough for harvest, if you asked Wooyoung. But he wasn’t willing to try and get a grab and Yunho’s soul in the presence of two angels and a collateral human being. He was bold, brash, and whatever else—but not an idiot!

“I know. But I’ve been forgetting my dreams. That’s gotta be a sign! That, and constantly forgetting what I walked into a room to do.”

San laughs again. “That stuff happens to everyone.”

“Not me, not usually. I get that most people don’t remember their whole dream, but I remember them. My dreams are too interesting to forget. They’re pretty wacky. When I was a kid, I used to keep a fuckin’ dream journal because they were that insane. But for the last three weeks it feels like I’ve been dreaming black—it’s weird… and I wake up tired, sometimes even more tired than before. That doesn’t happen to me.”

“Are you scared?” 

“What?” Yunho looks into the reaper’s soulless, dark eyes.

“Are you scared?”

“That my brain is dying? Hell yes.”

“You want to know what I think?” 

Yunho nods, eager for any prognosis that wasn’t fucking premature dementia. The reaper may actually have something to offer.

“I think demons,” he says.

“Are you saying I need an exorcism?” Yunho questions.

San serves the reaper a puzzled look. He didn’t know what to think about that.

“Be serious. Don’t try to freak him out,” the human warned. 

San was speaking more for himself than Yunho; the taller was notorious for not being easily scared—or difficultly scared—nothing broke him. Yunho physically could not flinch at a single cliché ghost—no matter how unexpected—but he was internally screaming at the thought of losing his precious dreams.

San couldn’t stand the thought of angels, reapers, _and_ demons. He was taught about demons. He grew up Catholic, with ample knowledge of demons’ existence. But he didn’t want them to be active and local. He didn’t want them to be _real!_ Life was already hard enough! 

If there were demons close to Yunho, messing with his mind, then who was to say they weren’t eating at San as well? Yeosang was only one person—one _angel—_ he couldn’t fight a whole fleet of them. If Yunho’s guardian couldn’t fight the beast off, then it had to be a really powerful one.

That terrified San.

And it terrified him even more that he couldn’t tell anyone. Especially Song Mingi; he’d piss his pants.

What would he do with this information? 

What _could_ he do? 

Nothing. 

And the fact that it was Jung Wooyoung who brought this information to him only made him want to see him less.

“Yunho, is your café hiring?”

“Funny you should say that, actually. One of my coworkers quit the other day and her spot’s been open for a while. Why’d you ask? Still searching?”

He nods to Wooyoung. “I wanted to get him situated. He’s been looking.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

Wooyoung smiles at the giant boy. “I’d much rather sit here and psych you out with demon talk.”

“You really think it’s demons?” Yunho groans. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, dream-snatchers. I’ve... read about them,” he says carefully, feeling Yeosang’s eyes on him. “Sometimes they appear in dreams in the form of an animal right before they consume them, and you’d never know because you forgot. If you’re the type to think of dreams as messages from other worlds, then you’re kinda screwed, ‘cause you’ll never know what the message was.”

“I just... like my dreams... and if all that stuff is true then I want them back even more now,” Yunho frowns. “Do you just read up about this stuff on the regular?”

“I...” Wooyoung laughs a little, awkward and dry. “I come from a family of occult-obsessed weirdos.”

“His side is pretty dark,” Yeosang supplies. “It’s got nothing to do with mine.”

— ✥ —

“Just so you know, Yunho is off-limits.” 

“I know,” the reaper groans. “You and Yeosang made it very clear that he wasn’t even an option. Plus, I wouldn’t want to be on his angel’s bad side in any case.”

“So you could stand being on _mine?”_ Yeosang scoffs. “Goodness, just put your whole foot in your mouth at this point, Wooyoung.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just– ugh. San what are you gonna do for work?”

“I got an interview lined up already but it’s retail. I _hate_ retail—“

“Doesn’t everyone?” The angel asks, and San weakly nods.

“I bet I’ll get the job, though. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s playing my part. I’ll be an excited, happy-go-lucky, customer service goof. It’ll be perfect. My people skills are pretty good too—and my angel skills,” he smiles at Yeosang, who just chuckles. “And, I guess, my reaper skills too.”

“You’ve been mean to me my entire stay, even when I tried to be pleasant,” Wooyoung pouts before gesturing to the angel. “And you’ve used your _guard dog_ to make threats.”

“Fuck you, dude. You tried to kill me when we first met. The least I could do is threaten you with my guardian angel who’s going to protect me no matter what.” San scowls. “You’re an ass and a half.”

“I told you it was nothing personal.”

“Vying for my soul isn’t personal?”

“It’s _not!”_

“It is, Wooyoung! That’s what you’re not understanding. I’m sorry but that’s the problem with reapers.” Yeosang interjects, “You don’t understand the value of a soul when you reap one.”

“Oh yeah? Well you angels don’t understand the difference between dedicating yourselves to your jobs versus your friends.” The reaper seethes. “You have all this heart and soul and whatever-the-fuck else; all these imperfect, _human_ characteristics, but you can’t understand the basic human notions of love. That’s the main purpose of a soul, to fucking _love!_ But you don’t even understand the different types!”

“And _you_ do? You know love? You’re a soul scientist now?” Yeosang bit back, “At the end of the day, a soul is still something I have.”

“You sure don’t know how to use it. Tell me, angel, how much do you love San? In fact, scratch that _—how_ do you love San, your precious person? The same way you love your coworkers, the way that says you’re kin? Or is it the way you love your boss, unfailing and almost idiotic? Or is it closer to the way you love demons, just out of duty and at a safe distance? Huh?”

Angels.

Demons.

_God._

He didn’t mention reapers—why? Angels seriously couldn’t have more beef with grim reapers than they did with demons. Not realistically. It was unfathomable.

“What’s going on here?” San said, not liking the spike in tension. It feels like something he shouldn’t be witnessing, yet he kind of brought it on.

When no one responds, he retreats to Mingi’s room. It felt like too much of an intrusion, and they were battling on playing fields San had never even seen before.

“They’re loud yet I still can’t catch what they’re saying,” Mingi says when his roommate welcomes himself to his room. San’s sad face makes Mingi furrow his brows with concern. The masturbation joke in the back of his brain dies out and he instead asks, “You okay?”

_“No.”_

They’re arguing in riddles, talking around each other about things beyond San’s comprehension, yet they keep mentioning his name; and somehow San feels guilty.

“He’s like the others!” Wooyoung yells. “Do you even remember the names of those before him?”

Mingi winces. “Ooh.”

“I do! Do you understand the damage you’re doing just by being here, acting like this?” Yeosang says firmly. “You’re causing a commotion.”

“I know I’m not welcome by you anywhere,” the reapers says, and it falls quiet, “but… you don’t have to hate my guts, alright?”

“What are they even talking about?” Mingi questions.

“I have no clue.”

“Just,” Yeosang starts—and San and Mingi turn into statues trying to hear what he’ll say next— “Just don’t hurt anybody. Don’t make it hurt.”

“I know that,” Wooyoung sucks his teeth. “I won’t.”

In the end, their argument went nowhere. But their emotions ran high.

“I think they’re done,” Mingi spoke.

“I know but,” San’s lip twitched, he didn’t want to face them, “can I crash in your room?”

“On my bed? I’d roll onto you,” Mingi jokes.

“You won’t, but if you do, I’ll treat it like a hug.”

“Suffocation?”

San denies. “Mm-mm. _Cuddling.”_

Mingi chuckles, patting a spot on the bed. “Then come on.”

  
  



	4. Giggly

The night creature stabbed his metallic claws into the brick exterior of the building with ease, cutting through the cemented material the way a lion tears through an unlucky zebra’s entrails.

His beautiful form goes unnoticed by everything but the moon, who was always silently watching, even on the quietest of nights.

The chill didn’t bother him as he crawled up, aiming for a specific window that he’d come to love.

“Ha,” he exhaled, an eager smirk ghosting his lips. 

He was so far off the ground right now; he _should’ve_ been scared. But the benefits outweigh the risks far too much so the nightcrawler continued his prowl, ascending the naked wall like a spider.

Finally, he reaches the window, and his cold breath fogs the glass. Using his same razor-sharp claws, he jimmies the lock, opening it with ease and allowing himself into the unsuspecting human’s room.

Humans were so weak like this; they had many moments of weakness, in fact. But this one— _sleep—_ it made even the most seasoned warrior nothing but a cradled infant. It was almost _too_ easy to take advantage of humans. Sleep was one thing none of them could avoid. Inescapable, like the creepy crawly himself.

The black beasts of the night sleep as well; but _never_ to the extent of humans—it’s _illegal_ to have your guard down that long—it’s suicidal.

And no one wants to die twice… or thrice.

The man cracked his knuckles as he watched the student sleep. He meanders around his bed for a while, enjoying the stable quiet. 

The boy had bleached his hair this time around. It was pale blond. Oddly enough, it suited him like a natural color and made him look extremely… cuddly? 

His lips were pouty too. Red and pouty. 

The demon wonders what his favorite dish is dreaming about now.

It’s a calm, dark night, as they usually are, and he’s a calm sleeper—but his dreams—his tasty, delectable dreams are almost always chaotic and boisterous. It’s something the dream stealer can’t get enough of; human duality. Sometimes it gave him whiplash. As predictable as humans were, there were still some loose variables in the mix that spiced things up. They were unlike demons, who lay either entirely on the systematic or the sporadic side of the spectrum, never meeting in the middle.

The dark creature blinks tiredly, inching towards the human’s bed. He swings his leg over the other’s covered body with ease, straddling the unsuspecting young man in an iron hold. The human didn’t react much at all, besides his face twitching a little.

The demon smirks. He leans forward, whispering in the sleeping beauty’s ear.

_“Meow.”_

When he’s this close he can sense the dreams radiating off the other. The vigorous imagination could only be a sign of a good meal. He heard his stomach growl greedily, as if he hadn’t been in this same room just the other night. But each dream _smells_ different, _tastes_ different, _feels_ different—and they’re all good! Even the nightmares had a wonderful kick to them! The nightcrawler actually thought consuming a nightmare wouldn’t be half bad right about now. 

Running curious fingers along the human’s jawline, the nightcrawler admires the human’s relaxed expression. 

How crazy would it be if he suddenly woke up, and the black cat’s weightless body suddenly materialized atop him, crushing him with fear? 

What a sight!

Whatever. 

The nightmarish intruder was too stealthy to be caught.

The demon places two fingers on the boy’s forehead and feels a thrum of power flow through his body as he carefully extracts the dream. It was a tedious ten second process; if his arm twitched the wrong way he could accidentally plague him with horrid visions instead of stealing his nightly ones. He could completely destroy his frontal lobe, his psyche. But the demon was experienced.

Once the dream was extracted, taking the form of a tiny, semi-tangible globe, the intruder popped it in mouth and felt the movie play out as he chewed. He nearly jumps at the flavor and smiles the whole way through as he eats.

This one was chewy and it tasted like… some human food the demon had found himself eating once, years ago. Chicken gizzards.

Seonghwa, now an accomplished kitty, had gotten what he came for and took his cue to leave.

As he got himself in position to leap out the window, his inhuman ears caught the mortal finally beginning to stir.

The demon is scared as all hell when he jumps—he _hates_ falling—but he reminds himself that a cat always lands on his feet.

In his teensy black cat form, the inconspicuous monster roams the streets like all the other stray felines.

— ✥ —

Wooyoung glares at the ambient, bright café. He shifts in his khaki apron and toys with his bubblegum pink nametag.

“C’mon dude, it’s not that bad,” Yunho said with a hand on his shoulder. “Stop sulking. You haven’t even had an annoying customer with an oddly complicated order yet.”

Yunho is chipper while Wooyoung just serves him his best fake smile.

“This isn’t really my style,” the reaper admits, eyes darkening when he catches another customer approaching out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve really got three hours left of this?”

“Three hours, man. You got this,” the blond gives him two thumbs up. “Go ‘head; take an order... or six.”

Yunho disappeared behind the employee door, leaving the newbie to pull the heavy weight.

Wooyoung internally screams but puts up a nice front for the human before him. It didn’t take much effort though, since the slightly shorter man was only halfway-paying attention, fidgeting with his earphones. 

His hair was an ashen black color that looked like the byproduct of multiple experimental dye jobs, and he carried a laptop bag that wasn’t fully zipped, exposing a few crumpled music sheets. 

The guy wore a soft cardigan and dark, ripped jeans. His thin, Potter-esque spectacles were a bit lopsided on his perfect nose. He seemed a bit jittery and the coffee hadn’t even touched his lips yet. 

Even his angel looked weird, appearing translucent even to Wooyoung’s reaper eyes.

“Hey, you’re new here.”

The voice snaps Wooyoung out of his daze. He answers weakly, “Yeah. First day.”

“Well, I’m Kim Hongjoong, I come here a lot and everyone behind this desk pretty much knows me ‘cause I used to work here. It seems like everyone at the university worked here at some point, but being a barista isn’t for everybody,” he chuckles. “It wasn’t for me.”

This is Kim Hongjoong, _the_ Kim Hongjoong that was on his wheel of death.

Wooyoung’s been here all day, eyes scanning every customer and every coworker that set foot in here and got nothing. It was nobody’s time yet and that bothered him.

Just how long would he have to sit here and smile in people’s faces?

It could be so easy. He could just stop Hongjoong’s heart with a love tap from his invisible scythe and all would be good, but then he’d certainly be jumped by every angel in the room, including Hongjoong’s weak one and Yunho’s giant executioner. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. Only one of his eyes is visible beyond his fringe, but he does a nice customer service smile, shrinking his eyes for a lifelike joy. “Well, hello, Hongjoong, what’ll you like to order?”

 _Soul cider, spirit tea._ Wooyoung was craving those hot drinks right about now.

“My usual.” Hongjoong says, “I’ll have the…”

— ✥ —

It was three whole hours before Hongjoong left. He had totally drained his coffee minutes after ordering it; but he had comfortably sat himself in a corner, still playing with his earbuds while doing a series of things from logging into an online class to reconstructing a track’s entire tempo. Wooyoung heard all his humming and was tuned in so deeply in Hongjoong’s business that he could physically feel his fingers skating across his keyboard.

His presence was so loud despite him being so quiet. It was so big despite him being quite small. It was so violent and disrespectful despite the person himself being friendly and polite.

And his oddball of an angel didn’t make it any better. Wooyoung could clearly see through her arms, and if it wasn’t for her modest, white gown, Wooyoung’s pretty sure he would be able to see through her entire form while she fades in and out of reality.

It was bothersome; why the fuck was she fading? 

Certainly it couldn’t be what Wooyoung was thinking? _Right?_ That was rarer than a demon turning into an angel!

He could try to ask Yeosang about it, to confirm his suspicion, but knowing the angel, he’d probably ignore him or say it’s none of his business. And it’s _not,_ Hongjoong isn’t a target because he’s one of San’s friends—but Wooyoung is curious. Is this the type of person little ole Sannie hangs out with unknowingly? Shouldn’t _he_ at least have the right to know?

Wooyoung takes his mind off of the weird human-angel duo in the corner by focusing on the pretty girls in front of his register, ordering together.

“Can I get your names for the order?”

“I’m Kyumi and she’s Noelle.” 

“And what’ll you have, Ms. Kyumi?”

“Mocha frappé with lots of chocolate.”

“And you, Ms. Noelle?”

“Vanilla macchiato, please.”

— ✥ —

  
  


“Mingi!”

“Oh? Hi.” The boy greets when Wooyoung randomly catches him on the campus after his shift. “How was work?”

“Lame. Do you know where San is?”

“Probably in class or at his essay thing, I’m guessing?”

“Essay thing?”

“Yeah, he’s part of a group that review each other’s essays before they turn them in.” The boy shrugs, hiding behind his thick scarf.

That’s right, it was starting to become cold; the season when every gust of wind feels like a sharp bite to the nose. The season where lips crack. Wooyoung could barely feel a thing. The weather wasn’t much of a bother to him, but he’d have to dress the part if he didn’t want to look weird.

“Shit.” The reaper groans. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Mingi asks. 

“Not really. Since San’s busy, can I hang out with you? Or do you have school shit to do too?”

“I was actually headed to the café to mooch off their wifi,” Mingi says with a playful eye-smile. “Yunho’s still there, right?”

“Yeah, he’s covering somebody named Soyi’s shift.” 

“Perfect! Then let’s go!”

The reaper groans. “I don’t wanna go back!”

“Relax. You’ve got nothing better to do, anyway. Plus, this time, you’re going as a customer not an employee,” Mingi goads. 

“I hate you,” Wooyoung says it with no passion. He had no real reason to, but that was his go-to burn. 

“Having haters is a good thing.” Mingi states.

The reaper finds himself asking, “Is that so?”

Mingi’s hand encircles his wrist. “Yes, it is so. Come on.”

— ✥ —

Wooyoung hid behind Mingi’s tall form as they made their way back to the café hotspot. 

He was in a bind, unable to suddenly go invisible due to the dozens of students that flocked to this place to study and chill.

Some of his new coworkers gave him odd looks as he made his way to a seat. This was embarrassing—it was like he lived here! 

But the atmosphere quickly shifted to a more bubbly one when Yunho smoothly slid to their table with a large white grin and very blushy cheeks.

“What’ll you guys have? It’ll be on the house.”

“Really? Then I want cake… and I mean, like, a whole cake.” Mingi requests.

Yunho looks a bit taken aback, not expecting all of that, but he adds it to the list anyway. “Chocolate?”

“Hell yeah,” Mingi simpers with his all teeth showing. “I’ll save some for you, don’t worry.”

“Oh,” Yunho chuckles, “Thanks. And what’ll you get, Wooyoung?”

“Uh… surprise me?”

“Cool.”

Hongjoong was no longer in the café, which means Wooyoung could ask about him. 

He sighs. There still wasn’t a single soul worth taking. He was growing nervous.

“Ugh, I’m gonna have to face Death,” he cries.

“Huh?”

“Oh,” he looks up at Mingi and snaps out of it. “Do you know Kim Hongjoong? I mean, if San does, you do too, right? Can you tell me about him?”

“Honestly you’ve probably heard him before you saw him. He’s kinda famous online. He majors in music production and design and makes the greatest beats I’ve ever heard in my life. He’s also a year older than me and San and was one of the people to, like, get us situated in the school. That’s… those are the basics. Well, that, and he’s pint-sized, but I’d say you two are about even.”

Wooyoung scowls, kicking him under the table. “Don’t.”

“Ow!” The taller boy says with an air of laughter behind it. “It’s true! Why do you ask anyway?”

“I don’t know… something about him just seems… off,” Wooyoung says honestly.

Mingi snorts. “How? Besides being a hidden YouTube star and production genius, he’s literally one of the most mundane people ever… Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

“No… there’s something with him that you’re not seeing. I just know it. My feelings are never wrong.”

Never wrong, except for when they’re terribly wrong.

“You’ve got a radar for weird?” The human boy jokes.

“You could say that,” Wooyoung says wistfully as his eyes follow a reaper woman dashing through the streets for a soul that Wooyoung won’t even attempt to go after. She’d beat him in that race for sure.

“You’re pretty weird yourself, Wooyoung,” the human notes.

“I know… I know…”


	5. October

Seonghwa sat meditatively under the meek light of the moon. She stared back at him with only half her face visible, the rest shrouded in inky darkness.

A sharp wind cut through the night sky, but the humanoid feline didn’t flinch. He stared at the stars scattered above him. His peaceful expression sours when he hears familiar footsteps. 

“Jinwook,” he complains, not moving an inch.

The other demon sits on the rooftop gravel next to him, inviting himself over to stargaze with the other like they were buddies.

Spoiler alert, they weren’t.

It’s not like they were full-blown _enemies,_ but they certainly weren’t _buddies._ It seemed like it didn’t matter if they were in the Underworld or on Earth, they were just constantly meeting one another, always popping up in the background of each other’s lives. It was annoying, more than anything.

“Seonghwa. How’ve you been?” Jinwook asks, taking a long drag of a cigarette.

The cat glances quizzically at him. “I’m okay. You?”

“Fucking fantastic. I been fucking around with this this toxic family for a minute, and the eldest son is so close to snapping on his dad! I can’t wait, it’ll be hilarious!” The demon laughs, puffs of smoke spilling out of his mouth. “You’ve been awfully quiet, though. You sure you’re okay?”

Seonghwa scoffs, sitting up. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jinwook shrugs, knocking off some excess ash. “‘Cause it takes a ton of blood and sweat to get out of Hell and onto Earth so I figured you’d want to make the most of it… show your worth, like every demon ever. I’ve heard that you’ve been in Korea for _months_ and haven’t done anything worthwhile.”

“So what? How is that any of _your_ business?” Seonghwa challenges.

“‘Cause you’re not a sloth. You’re a _cat._ You should act like one,” the other demon places the cigarette back on his lips. It does nothing but warm his chest, reminding him of his home realm in a cruel kind of way.

“I should _act like one?”_ Seonghwa repeats with a wry laugh. He swipes the shriveled cig out of the other’s mouth, chucking it off the side of the building. “Full offense, but I’m not taking advice on how to act like a cat from a bird.”

“Well then, why are you here?”

Coyly, Seonghwa points up. “To look at the stars. The skies back in Sin City don’t look nearly as spectacular.”

“Be _real!”_ Jinwook urges, staring him down. “Why are you on Earth if you’re not doing anything? What _are_ you doing?”

Demon gossip gets around; if one of them is acting out, everyone knows it, and they’re cheering it on because it’s entertaining. If someone’s doing something in secret, it piques everyone’s interest. What could be so devious that it couldn’t be shared amongst the personifications of evil?

Seonghwa pouts his lip. He could lie, but to make it sound believable would be a whole other heap of work, and Jinwook wouldn’t be convinced anyway. “I… I want a child.”

“Huh?” The other actually stood this time, genuine shock coloring his harsh features. “You’re a bit young for that!”

“Not really. I don’t think so.” Seonghwa stands too, uncomfortable with this guy looming over him. “I been thinking about it for a while.”

“Are you sure it’s not the heat talking?”

Seonghwa pauses. An exasperated sigh threatens to escape his lips, but he forces it down.

Birds didn’t get heats; cats and dogs did. Their mating seasons were kind of incognito—the other creatures didn’t know if birds had sex at all, and frankly they didn’t care. Cats had about three dreadful but short bursts per year whereas dogs had one long stretch in the middle of the year. This meant one thing—that birds were very ignorant.

“No! Are you—“ The sigh escapes him. “My next heat isn’t supposed to swing around till Halloween. I’ve been... perfectly cognizant when I was thinking about this. I want a bonded kin.”

“Halloween is in two-ish weeks. You sure it’s not the pre-heat talking?”

At this point, he had to be teasing.

“Like I’m a fucking oven or something? I really despise you sometimes, you know that!”

“Ooh,” Jinwook cringed. “Sorry... hit a nerve. Wouldn’t it just be simpler to just get a biological kitten with a girl cat or your succubus friend? She’s willing, right?”

“She’s willing for sex, not pregnancy. No demoness in their right mind ever wants to get pregnant since it slows them down so much. She’s my friend but even _she_ won’t go that far for me and I won’t ask her to,” the cat pursed his lips, thinking. “I don’t even think she’ll go that far for her boyfriend.”

“Damn. So much for friendship,” the shorter man squawks. “But converting a human to a bonded kin, that limits you to only one offspring. No more children after that; no more _chances._ You’re okay with that?”

“I think so,” Seonghwa thinks back to one of his hyungs, a canine named Jimin and his kin. They’re happy together—not even just happy, but complimentary, a unit. “I think one is all I need. I just need to make the right choice.”

“You’re damn right you do. Personally, I think you should wait it out another six decades, when you’re mature. You don’t want to fuck up now and be eternally stuck with a crybaby or something—but then I suppose, you could just ditch them—but you’re too soft for that,” Jinwook cackles maliciously. “This could end up like—like our equivalent of a bad tattoo. A permanent shit stain, if you will.”

“I hate you.” Seonghwa says flatly.

“I’m just telling you to not fuck up. I don’t particularly care whether you follow my advice or not—but it’s out there, and you heard it. Do with that…” he walks to the edge of the building, “what you please!”

He leaps, transforming into a large banggai crow as he soars through the sky, abandoning the dream eater on this rooftop once again.

Seonghwa just shakes his head. Jinwook—that _monster—_ ruined his dreamy atmosphere! It seems like no matter where he went, he couldn’t be alone with his thoughts without him butting in with unsolicited advice.

— ✥ —

“Jongho’s birthday is coming up,” San says one day.

Mingi glances up from his computer screen and then clicks a few keys. His face blanches as he realizes the athlete’s birthday is literally right around the corner. 

“Shit.” Mingi stops character customizing.

Jongho wasn’t one that you’d typically see hanging around a bunch of nerds and theatre geeks, but unlike the rest of his teammates, he didn’t discriminate and welcomed the wildcards into his circle. The star player had hit it off with Mingi almost instantly, simply enjoying each other’s presence without any particular reason behind it. Jongho had once said Mingi felt familiar in a sense, and the taller boy had no idea what he meant by that because they really had nothing in common. It was just the simple law of opposites attract. Luckily, it went right, because if it went left, Mingi’s visits to his dorm to see his boyfriend would be extra awkward.

With this unlikely friendship, came a friendship with San. That, as a result, meant Yeosang and Jiwoo—Jongho’s guardian—knew each other formally, but they were still in that unpleasant phase. 

All of this was to say Jongho had texted them invites to his place for a little get-together and San and Mingi were really late with the presents.

“What’re you going to get him?” San quizzed.

Wooyoung glanced at him, bewildered. He never understood the significance of birthdays. He didn’t even remember his. He just knew Yeosang was a bit older than him. The only time Wooyoung’s age really mattered was when it was time to bully younger reapers. 

“I dunno,” Mingi bites on his thumb. “I could be annoying and get him a sack of apples.”

“Don’t do that,” San laughs. “He’ll cry… or disown you.”

“Oh, I know what to get him! He’s obsessed with sweaters, I’ll get him something extra fuzzy since it’s getting cold.” Mingi smiles, victorious. “I’m cleared; so what are _you_ getting our precious maknae?”

“Uh.” San awkwardly smiles, hands flailing. “Tender love and care, maybe?”

“You’re a terrible gift-giver…”

“That’s not my love language! My thing is like, petting people.”

Wooyoung chuckles and Yeosang cringes. It feels weird cringing in the physical world where San can openly see his movements. 

“You should take him to a masseuse,” the angel suggests suddenly. At the boys questioning gazes, he explains. “He plays sports... that means his muscles are always tense or sore or in some type of pain. He’s probably gotten used to it and chose to ignore it, so if you take him to get a good massage, it’ll heal his entire body.”

Wooyoung, a simple man, responds simply. “Huh.”

“That sounds expensive,” San says before having an epiphany. “But maybe I could just get him one of those electric massagers.”

Wooyoung quirks a brow. “The ones that look like sex toys?”

Yeosang chokes and Mingi cackles wolfishly.

“He’s right… They look like ‘magic wands.’” 

Mingi’s air quotes and euphemisms don’t make it any better. 

Yeosang blinks at the open air, almost as if he were questioning why he spoke at all. He could always count on Wooyoung to make something pervy. The angel stifled a pained laugh; it was so childish.

“You should still get it,” Wooyoung says, biting down his giggle. “It’s actually a pretty good idea. He’ll like it.”

“You think so?”

The angel and reaper nod in unison, cringing in unison immediately after.

They were right. San agreed. This could be his _real thanks-for-yanking-me-away-from-death’s-door_ present, to make up for that shitty McDonald’s meal he bought him.

— ✥ —

The campus was eerily quiet at night, but on the up side, it was pretty. It was full of mid-rise buildings and skinny streetlights to keep you company and illuminate the way.

The lights that came straight out of a movie made the walk from San and Mingi’s dorm to Jongho and Yunho’s building so much easier.

San could see a light fog in the air as his eyes wandered up to the cloudy, dark sky.

Mingi and the others froze behind him.

“What?” 

“A cat.” Mingi said.

The cat was radiating a sinister energy, but it wasn’t enough to make Yeosang outright jump. He was one to act in self defense; he wasn’t going to start anything as long as they weren’t bothered.

Wooyoung wanted it gone. He had enough on his mind and didn’t need a demon’s reckless pranks to get in his head too.

San, a sucker for all things cute and helpless, carefully approached it in hopes of touching it. 

Usually stray cats were very skittish, running off if you even _blinked_ wrong; but this one was very calm, and sat patiently, as if it wanted to be approached.

San, on one knee, caresses the animal and scratches behind his ears. “Hey, kitty,” he greets, which immediately draws out a purr from the hidden monster.

Yeosang wants to step forward, but Wooyoung stops him with a hand.

“Nothing’s happening, Sangie. Just let him pet the cat.”

Yeosang sucks his teeth, brushing Wooyoung’s hand off of him.

“Hurry up San, we gotta go.” Mingi calls. “It’s cold.”

“I know,” San answers, but he doesn’t stop petting the black cat. The fur was the softest he’s ever felt and the cat seemed to like San’s company. “Where’s your home?”

The cat shook his head. He meows indignantly.

There was no identification anywhere on the animal, and the boy wondered how this creature even ended up on a college campus. 

After a short while, the cat wriggles away from San’s hands, strutting off in his own direction as if he had somewhere else to be. San frowns a bit but doesn’t do anything else. 

“Bye kitty.”

The cat cutely attempts a response, but it’s just a long, animalistic wail. “Meooow.”

Yeosang glances at the creature and then up at San’s face. His smile was bright under the streetlights, and his face was visibly red in the cold. The angel shyly reaches for his hand and the human accepts it cheerily, continuing their walk.

“Are we almost there?” Wooyoung asks.

Mingi nods. “It’s honestly not a long walk. It’s just really cold so it feels further. It’s like, two more buildings down.”

Humans trekked their fragile bodies through the nightly winds to celebrate another’s birth that happened a mere twenty years ago... Wooyoung would never understand it.

— ✥ —

“Happy birthday!” San and Mingi greet as soon as Jongho opens the door.

The boy is all smiles and rosy cheeks when he welcomes the two into his humble abode.

Mingi wastes no time, dropping his gift on a nearby table and rushing to obnoxiously smooch his boyfriend.

“Who’s this?” Jongho asks San, subtly pointing to the strange pair that stood close by him.

“Oh! This is my plus one… and... my plus one’s plus one.”

“I didn’t say anything about a plus one.” The birthday boy says it like a question. 

“Happy birthday.” The angel tries. He’s pleasantly surprised when Jongho throws a lovely grin at him. “My name’s... Yeosang. Sorry I don’t have anything to offer. I’m like a freeloader.”

“Nah. It’s okay. The more the merrier, right? Any friend of San is a friend of mine.”

“Well in that case, you and me are gonna have an interesting time. My name’s Wooyoung,” he sticks out a gloved hand.

Those were his scythe gloves—fingerless and leather, made with grips that were almost scaly, so that he’d never drop the weapon no matter how wildly he swung the godforsaken thing. 

Wooyoung had been put under strict rules to not reap any one of San’s friends or associates, and he’d honor that—one, because San said so, and he doesn’t want the human to hate his spiritual guts any more than he already did; and two, because Wooyoung hadn’t been to a human party in ages—even if this wasn’t exactly a ‘party,’ per se. Humans just had more fun, because they were fragile enough to get drunk and dumb, and the reaper wanted to be a part of that! 

Just as they were settling in, clinking their beers together, there was a fashionably late knock on the door. 

Yunho answers it and his grin is audible. The man’s lean body completely hides the guest from view, but Wooyoung does spot a familiar translucent angel. 

The shorter young man steps into the cramped home, kicking his boots off at the door. 

“Yo!” He greets. “Happy birthday, Jjong.”

The star libra just grins adorably once more. “Thanks, hyung.” 

“Cute,” Yunho notes. 

Jongho was his roommate but he never ceased to amaze the other with his random bouts of cuteness. He was arguably the most masculine out of all his friends and yet he could melt into a putty if his mood allowed it. 

Mingi hears his comment and laughs. Yunho’s pretty sure Mingi came specifically to cuddle with him the whole night, and he wasn’t mad at that. In fact, he appreciated it.

“Now that everyone’s finally here, let’s bring out the cake!” San hollered. Before Jongho could question it, he continued. “We know you don’t like sweets but we had to have it—for the _vibes,_ y’know? The _symbolism,_ y’know?” He wiggles his fingers in his direction. “Bring it out, Yuyu!”

“Got it.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Jongho says.

“Oh, but we did. You’ll like it, it’s coffee cake.” San cheers, “Then we get drunk like there’s no tomorrow!”

“Yeah!” Mingi raises his half-empty bottle.

Everyone will get drunk like there’s no tomorrow, except the group of supernaturals that also mingled among them.

Yeosang took a swig regardless, and he felt indifferent towards the taste. It was cheap, but it warmed his chest. 

Wooyoung was too occupied trying to read Hongjoong’s angel to even do anything. She was uncomfortable being stared at like she was guilty of some crime, so she tried to ignore the reaper’s heavy gaze, but they accidentally made eye contact. It was inescapable now, unbearably obvious.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Wooyoung suddenly asked.

“Down the hall.”

The reaper makes one more quick glance towards the girl and she immediately understands it, detaching herself from Hongjoong’s hip to sneak into the bathroom with Wooyoung. She’s aware of multiple sets of angelic eyes trailing behind them. She doesn’t care. She just wants the reaper to stop looking.

Wooyoung locks the door behind them.

“You’re gonna miss your friend’s song.” 

The reaper lifts his eyebrow as he lowly answers, “That doesn’t matter to me right now… What are you?”

 _“Me?”_ The girl in white looks him up and down. “I’m an angel.”

 _“You’re_ an angel?” Wooyoung almost scoffs. He folds his arms. “I’ve never seen an angel glitch before.”

“We only make up a slight fraction of the population, for obvious reasons.”

“I don’t know these ‘obvious reasons.’ Please tell, ‘cause I thought angels and reapers were supposed to be a team.” 

The girl laughs right in his face, mean but undeniably beautiful. That was the thing with angels, especially guardians—they made everything so _pretty…_ to the point of exhaustion. She sits on the countertop, crossing one leg over another as she says, “You don’t even know my name, Wooyoung.”

“What is it?”

“Mihaela.”

That was different—way left field type of different. Spirits and spectres usually chose names that reflected the region they were in the most. ‘Mihaela’ was definitely not a Korean name—it was way too close to ‘Michael.’ It was too biblical to even be considered for the common Korean’s name. 

Wooyoung pushed the thought aside, asking his next question. “What about your ward, what is he?”

 _“That’s_ the obvious reason,” she says smartly. “My Joongie’s a witch.”

“Really? I never would’ve guessed.”

Mihaela shakes her head. “You wouldn’t _have_ to guess if you were more aware of the people around you, reaper. Witches are a special subset of humanity where they don’t have to keep their guardians for their whole lives. I’m fading because his familiar is close. Once a witch bonds with a familiar, they’ll become a symbiotic duo. The demon provides guardianship and the witch provides companionship and an anchor to Earth.”

An anchor—once bonded, they couldn’t simply be casted back to the Underworld if they caused trouble. It was definitely a good deal, then.

“Huh. So, you know who his familiar is?”

Glancing at her bony, bare wrist, she replies, “Not a clue. I just know that my clock is ticking. As the days go by, they’re going to meet, and they’re gonna bond, and Joongie won’t need me anymore.” Mihaela sucks her teeth. “He won’t even know he ever had me in the first place. That’s one plus with those dark familiars—the human is aware of their presence… It won’t be fun for me when we split,” she lifts her hand and sees the reaper straight through it. “But that’s the way it goes, so.”

Wooyoung could see she was trying to pretend she didn’t care, but the girl was hurting. She shook like an aspen leaf and her eyes threatened to spill tears. The reaper knew angels got attached to their charges—they built a parental love for them over the course of their whole life—but it was part of the job to let them go at times, even when it was earlier than you had imagined. They had to get over it, and most of them did. As easily as they forged those bonds, they could just as well dismantle them, erase them... until they met again in the land of milk and honey. Some angels got too close, however, and it looked like Mihaela was one of those unfortunate souls. She even gave him a cute nickname. She was kind of pitiful, really.

“And after that, you’ll be assigned to another human?” Wooyoung infers.

Mihaela nods, brown hair bouncing. “Yep.”

The reaper wasn’t a wordsmith by any means and didn’t know what he could possibly say to lift the sad girl’s spirits, so he stuck with what he knew best.

“Good luck.”

She sighs forlornly, whispering, “No thanks. I’m okay. I don’t believe in luck.”

— ✥ —

“What were you doing in there?” Yunho chuckles.

The reaper rolls his eyes, already knowing what he meant. “I was talking to my imaginary friend.”

An unexpected response was enough to leave the boy speechless. Mingi laughs dramatically in the other’s arms, clearly in a state where he finds absolutely anything funny.

“We’re about to play truth or dare,” Hongjoong says brightly. “Get in the circle.”

“Do we have to strip?” The reaper asks carefully. He wasn’t opposed to it, being the sexy death fiend he was, he just had to make sure the others were mentally prepared for such a show.

Hongjoong quickly shakes his head. “No, no.”

“If I see anyone with pink nipples, I’ll have to end the friendship.” Jongho pretends to puke.

Mingi, drunk and honest, admits, “Mine are brown!”

“We know,” both San and Yunho say together. The room goes silent for a whole two seconds, before exploding with laughs and wheezes.

“Do real human beings even have pink nipples?” The blond giant asks, mind already wandering.

“White people.” Mingi offers. “Cock Asians.”

“We’re getting sidetracked,” Hongjoong pats the space next to him, “Get in the ugly circle, Wooyoung.”

“There’s no order ‘cause we don’t believe in order. Just ask whoever you want.” Jongho starts, “Sannie-hyung, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Boring!”

“Is it true you can’t sleep without the shiba inu doll?”

“False. Did Mingi tell you that?” The boy glances at his roommate, who feigns innocence. “I like to have it on the bed with me, though. But I don’t need to hug him all the time to sleep. Just when I’m moody.”

“San, you’re always moody. You’re a sap,” Jongho informs.

“Oh, nice,” the boy makes a face at him.

While San thought of a comeback, Hongjoong pressed Yunho, who also picked truth, surprisingly. 

“Is it true you had a crush on me at one point? This is honestly to cure my curiosity; I heard from a bird.”

Yunho is shameless when he answers. “I had a debilitating crush on you.”

“I think we all did,” Mingi mumbles, not looking his hyung in the eye.

“No, seriously.” San agrees, a bit of embarrassment imbued in his voice.

Yeosang stifles a laugh, hiding behind his hand. He remembers a phase where San would constantly blabber to himself about his cool music hyung.

The said hyung looked shocked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Yunho shrugs. “I honestly think part of it was because you’re small.”

Hongjoong scowls. “I’m a grown man.”

“Yeah, you are,” Mingi jeers, throwing up a peace sign, “not a princess.”

Hongjoong was oblivious to his natural charms and the birthday boy was immune to them, finding this whole ordeal hilarious.

The Hongjoong fan club had come up to him at different times asking for tips on how to be confident with your crush, but Jongho wasn’t a good advisor in the sense that he was rarely the one to be confident and make the first move unless he was a hundred percent sure the other person was into him. Somehow Yunho’s debilitating crush on Hongjoong turned into his debilitating crush on Mingi, who in turn found Yunho to be the fucking light of his life. 

Poor Hongjoong was none the wiser. He drew people into his web only to entangle them with each other.

Poetic cinema for Jongho’s viewing pleasure.

His friends were idiots.

“My turn!” Mingi announces, “Jongho, truth or dare—and don’t be boring.”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to go into the closet with Wooyoung for seven minutes.”

“Woah, a crossover special,” Yunho cheers.

“What the hell? It’s Jongho’s dare, why am I part of it?” 

Mingi titters, “You’re an accessory.”

Wooyoung looks at San, who looks a bit freaked out about the whole thing. The human was making a conscious effort to not make his discomfort known, but Wooyoung could feel the dread radiating off of him… because he was the cause.

The fear of death—the fear of the _possibility_ of death—was enough to scare any human. Wooyoung didn’t even have to try.

He glowers at the sight, turning back to the bright-eyed football player.

“Let’s do it,” he says, already bounding towards the closet. “Someone keep time.”

“I’ll do it,” the angel offers. “Seven minutes, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Mingi clumsily shuts them in.

In the cramped, dark space, Wooyoung is promptly reminded of his void. There were a series of portals scattered throughout the world in which reapers could jump in and out to get to their native plane. Once inside, they had to trek through this incredibly tight, dark pathway—essentially, a vortex. It was insanely claustrophobic! The process was borderline _traumatic_ the first time around. But if a person could make it through that, they could make it through _anything._ It was like being born over and over again; born into your home. Once you made it to the other side, it was open space and _comfortable_ darkness. It wasn’t a lonely world despite how cold it seemed; it was filled to the brim with reaper friends who’d only answer to Death himself. 

Wooyoung brings his mind back to the real world and sees Jongho, squished in front of him, in 4K.

He moves a jacket away from his face, complaining, “This is weird.”

“I know… They probably expected me to pounce on you.” _In more ways than one._ “But I’m not a reckless drunk.”

Jongho laughs. “I can hold my alcohol pretty well, too. But… I got a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you and… what’s his name, Ryusung? Do you guys go here? I mean, the school’s pretty small. I thought I at least knew everyone’s face; but you guys are new.”

“His name’s Yeosang and… you’d honestly be surprised how many new faces are walking through this place everyday.” Wooyoung hints. “I have a question for you too.”

“Okay.”

“Why didn’t you invite any of your teammates?”

“Oh.” Jongho blinks, voice lowering, “They’re not really, I mean, they’re… they’re like, not a bunch I can stand to be around for too long.”

Wooyoung explodes with laughter at the boy’s careful diss, and with his laugh being the most boisterous and lively thing about him, Jongho becomes infected with the giggles as well.

Each joke they made was built from the last.

Their seven minutes end with the door swinging open, only to have them gripping on to each other while cackling crazily.

Wooyoung _cries._

“Jongho… you’re… you’re fucking hilarious!”

“What in the hell were you two talking about?” San wonders with an unexpected simper.

“Stuff,” the reaper says in response. Even though he still doesn’t really know what it means, he looks to Jongho in his lopsided triangle hat and says, “Happy birthday.”


	6. Summons ₚₐᵣₜ ₁

“You guys can go ahead, I think I’ll stay here for the night,” Mingi waves.

“Uh-uh! No way you guys are going to have sex on my birthday!” Jongho shrills. “The walls are thin!”

Mingi rolls his eyes and teases. “We weren’t planning on fucking, but now that you mention it...”

“Nah. I’m too tired for that anyway. I’ve spent the entire night laughing my ass off and I think any more physical movement might actually kill me,” Yunho jokes.

The young libra still groans. 

It’s one more hour before the others leave, and the youngest of the bunch bids the couple goodnight as they head to their separate rooms. 

Mingi and Yunho hobble into Yunho’s dark room, tossing their heavy bodies onto his bed. They kind of enjoy how its smallness forces them closer.

Mingi throws a leg over Yunho’s torso and beams, teeth bright and sinister in the pitch black room. “We’re not really sleeping, are we?”

Yunho chuckles. “Of course not.”

He connects his lips with Mingi’s, tasting the alcohol on his tongue. He had diluted his with orange juice, so there was a citrus kick to it, making it all the more inviting.

Mingi giggles when the other’s tongue ghosts over his neck.

But his laughing dies off when the licking turns into sucking. “Ah.”

“Just relax, okay? And don’t get too loud.”

 _“You_ relax,” Mingi sasses with a lopsided grin. Alcohol emboldened him so much, which was a hilarious boost to his already boisterous personality. “Get back to it before I flip us over.”

Sensing something was off, Yunho froze. “Wait—I heard something.”

“The wind, maybe?” Mingi rationalizes, turning his head.

“No, listen. It sounds weird.” Yunho whispers.

So they lay there frozen, waiting for the sound of movement again.

Mingi, whose eyes found themselves naturally glancing towards the stars glowing outside the window, saw something.

A black shadow _thing_ stared back at him, seemingly making perfect eye contact, before swiftly shooting upwards, scaling the building like a large spider.

Mingi, of course, hollers.

“What the _fuck_ was that!”

“What? What’d you see?” 

He jolts violently, shouting answers. “A thing! A creepy crawly! I don’t _know what!”_

The fear eating at Mingi was enough to make his partial erection shrivel up and die. His heart spasmed in his chest.

Yunho hopped off the bed, moving towards the window. “I wanna see.”

“You’re insane,” the other said meekly, hiding himself under the covers.

The blond cracks open the window, boldly sticking his head out. Below him, he sees nothing out of the ordinary besides a few busted up little holes in the wall, but above him, he does notice something moving with inconceivable speed, vanishing before his eyes just as he saw it. The boy is left so confused that he doesn’t even know if it was real or just his imagination. It looked like a lifelike shadow, moving on its own accord.

He inhales the chilly night air. 

Okay, so Operation: Getcha Freak On was a total failure and he may or may not be having a shared delusion with his boyfriend. Perfect.

“Did you see it?”

Yunho lies through his teeth. “Nope.”

He makes sure not to tell him about the punctures he saw in the exterior brick wall. The thickest ones seemed to stop right at his windowsill, like someone was rock climbing only to get into this particular room. 

It did worry him briefly but he quickly shakes the thought off, convincing himself it was just the wear of a somewhat old building.

It was just weathering, obviously!

“You didn’t see it,” Mingi repeats quietly, before chuckling awkwardly. “Okay. Okay. Maybe it was just me, ha. Drunken insanity, woohoo, haha.”

He was scared... and rambling. Yunho chuckles, endeared.

“You big baby.”

“Hey, hey, relax! Mingi’s not a baby,” the boy sharply retorts.

 _“Mingi_ just referred to himself in the third person,” the blond replies.

— ✥ —

  
  


A week passes by and the reaper is acting weirder than usual. Their tiny dorm is filled with a sense of discomfort when the personification of death stumbles in looking like he’s seconds from toppling over.

“Your check.” Wooyoung shoves the envelop into San’s chest, rushing passed him to go hide in the boy’s room.

“What was that for?” 

“I have to go!” Wooyoung answers in a strained shout, like he didn’t believe his own words. He whines again, longer and pained and so uncharacteristically _fragile_ that it sends a shock of worry through San. “Ah… ah, I’ve been here for a month… ugh, I have to go… But I don’t want to.”

The reaper collapses in the middle of the short hall, a mere three steps from San’s room. Yeosang, for the first time in a long time, rushes to his aid.

The angel hesitates when he reaches out for the other, opting to keep his hands to himself. Gently, he asks, “Are you okay?” 

He knew the answer. Of course he wasn’t okay— _this_ was not okay.

Wooyoung’s index finger massages his temple. His breathing is a bit uneven; and that was a feat for someone who didn’t even require breath. Yeosang worries in silence. 

“I’ve been stalling,” the reaper explains through hooded eyes. “I’ve spent almost a month on this planet, trying to catch one more soul and I just… seem to be so unlucky. I had one just within reach today too—but it was stolen from me—it... is so much easier to fabricate one—” 

A sharp hiss cuts off his speech. He coils in on himself.

“Wooyoung!” San says.

“You need to take me to the nearest funeral home. I can’t get there on my own like this. If I had gone earlier, instead of waiting to be called, I could’ve made it. But now, I’m in trouble. Fuck,” he grabs his head, nearly tearing out his hair. “The ringing, the ringing, it’s ringing…”

_Ringing…_

_Ringing…_

_Ringing…_

The summoning bells were ringing in his head.

Death always went two ways—absolute peace or absolute torture. He was feeling the latter.

“I can take him.” Yeosang offers quickly, already preparing himself to carry the other. “It’ll be faster.”

“What, and just leave me behind?”

“I can multitask, San. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

That was important, though it wasn’t San’s only concern. “You said angels were linked to their humans.”

“We are. It’s a spiritual link more than anything. It alerts us, keeps us bound,” Yeosang hoists the reaper up, slinging his arm across his shoulders. “I just… personally prefer to be physically close to my person. I was speaking for myself in that case. But I don’t think he can’t wait for a bus or sit through a car ride. I’ve never seen him this weak before.”

The reaper whimpers pitifully. “My head…”

“I got you,” the angel says softly. It’s the most care he’s ever addressed Wooyoung with since San has met them, and it’s enough to make his eyebrow twitch with interest. San thought they were immortal enemies from the way they interacted, with Wooyoung being the more playful nuisance whereas Yeosang was the mission-oriented agent. But it looks like their relationship extended past simple foes. Even though they met through Wooyoung’s constant attacks on San, Yeosang didn’t want the reaper to hurt—to die. And honestly, San didn’t want that either. 

“I wanna come too,” San tries, but he’s already opening the balcony glass sliding door.

“I’m sorry, San, but you can’t fly yet.”

The duo go invisible as Yeosang leaps off the edge.

— ✥ —

“I’m feeling better already,” Wooyoung says, relieved. The two were at the entrance of a black cube of a building. The name was written on a glamorous marquee with gold lettering.

**✥ CHO & CHA’S FUNERAL HOME ✥**

Their welcome sign included their hours of operation and a bright slogan.

_‘Love and care, we’ll be there.’_

“So, the pain works as an alert for you too?” Yeosang asks as they walk inside.

“Yeah.”

Wooyoung, ever the energetic one, still drags behind, although he’s significantly better now than he was fifteen minutes ago. He couldn’t even hold himself up, let alone fly on his own. It seems like the closer he gets to the portal, the better he feels. Now he’s just tense and pale, constantly toying with his lower lip; but he acts unharmed and normal as soon as he detects the angel’s eyes on him. He’s clearly stressed, but he’s trying to fake it until he makes it.

The angel had never seen a reaper so fragile, unless it was wartime. He didn’t like the sight; it was disturbing.

Wooyoung’s pain had been reduced to a dull sensation at his temples, not unbearable but still enough to draw him in and tell him what he needs to do.

When they enter, they see a young woman with long black hair and bangs that almost shadow her eyes completely.

Her arms are covered in metallic bangles, so when she claps joyously, the sounds ricochet off every wall and every thing.

She catches Wooyoung in a hug, grinning. “Wooyoung! Long time!”

“Ha, I know,” he says sheepishly. “Sorry. But I’m not exactly here to just visit.”

“Wait, let me go call Eunyoung real quick!” 

When the woman scurries off to a back room, Yeosang asks, “So which one of them is the witch?”

“You could tell?” The reaper says, impressed. “Even I couldn’t immediately tell... I guess I’m just bad at spotting witches at this point.”

“It was a guess. I sense a shapeshifter in here, but their presence isn’t super loud so it must be a familiar.” 

“You’re smart,” the reaper grins, and the angel simply looks away. “The girl we just met is Yumi. Cha Yumi, and the witch is her girlfriend-slash-fellow mortician, Cho Eunyoung. They founded this place, and they’ve been good friends of mine since this shop popped up.”

“So you use their urn for interdimensional travel.”

“Yeah. That one’s the portal,” the reaper points lazily.

Held carefully in the pristine, manicured hands of Cho Eunyoung, was a golden urn that held an ancient energy. The thing was unused, pristine, with three-dimensional designs all over of angel women weeping and mourning. This was the type of urn where you’d put a world leader’s remains, a respected prophet’s remains. This was also the type of urn that could be bewitched—transformed as a station for travel between worlds—all guarded by a down-low witch in a funeral home.

Eunyoung’s black, glossy stiletto nails tapped along the urn as she set it on the counter in front of the pair. 

She leans over it, hugging the reaper in a pretty uncomfortable—but still welcomed—way.

“I had a feeling this is what you were here for. What’d you get yourself into this time, Wooyoung?”

“I’m scared,” he admits. “I haven’t met my quota and my time is up. This is my summons call. I don’t know what type of punishment I’ll get, but I know I don’t want it.”

His eyes were pleading at the young witch, one of his best friends—but at the end of the day, witches were still just humans; she could only support him from the sidelines, she was limited.

“Wooyoung…” She didn’t know what to say to him. She knew nothing she could say could really console or prepare him for whatever he would face in that mysterious realm. But she wanted to be supportive, and so did Yumi. “We’ll be here waiting for you, okay?”

A black starling with rainbow-like, iridescent feathers suddenly whizzed by, circling them before resting on Eunyoung’s head, almost like a confirmation.

Nobody reacts—this was normal for them, a hoard of supernaturals; they all were aliens to this world, minus Yumi. 

“Thank you. All three of you,” he said to the girls, and Trixie, the shapeshifting bird. He turns to Yeosang. “Can you… Can you wait for me? Please?”

The angel stares at him, almost insulted that he would have to ask that question. But it was just precautionary. He was being too careful. This whole situation had switched their personalities entirely. Yeosang was now quietly aggressive and madly unpredictable in Wooyoung’s eyes—and he felt the need to _ask_ him to stay. Yeosang’s chest hurt. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Of course, Woo,” he answered, although his voice falters a bit.

Wooyoung takes the urn and hides himself in the back room, not wanting to show the process of entering the portal.

— ✥ —

  
  


Once inside, his usually comfortable, chaotic, calm darkness was the complete opposite—restrictive, cage-like, and rigid.

The entire place reminds him of nighttime air and nighttime clouds. Those same clouds rumble as a voice booms, “Jung Wooyoung, of South Korea sector six… You are called to stand trial.”

“Trial?” He repeats brokenly. He knew it was coming but didn’t want to believe it. Wooyoung had his mind made up for a swift punishment. He didn’t want a prolonged trial that’d only give him false hope and public embarrassment. Those trials… were harsh. 

Those trials had the power to _kill Death,_ embarrassing you till the very moment your last cell is erased!

He didn’t want one.

— ✥ —

  
  


“So you’re the Yeosang Wooyoung spoke of.” Yumi simpers, inching closer as if she wanted to memorize his features. “You have very pretty eyes.”

“My… my eyes?” Yeosang splutters. He had gotten many generic compliments over the course of his life, calling him beautiful, winsome, attractive, etcetera… but nobody ever really went into details and delved into what made him so handsome. He always figured it was because he was an angel, and thus, it wasn’t anything special, it was standard. Not every angel was conventionally attractive, not by human standards, but each and every one of them had heard songs of how magnificent they were. So in the end, compliments were so abundant that they meant next to nothing. “Thank you…”

“Yeah, and that mark. It looks like a little island. I like it; it’s cute,” she hones in on the red blot near his left eye.

The comment on his birthmark overwhelms Yeosang a bit, not being one to take such praises often, so he shifts back to what he’s really interested in hearing. “Wooyoung… He talks about me?”

“He talks about you like you’re the ice to his cream,” Yumi explained. “He always said you two were one and the same.”

Trixie, still in her bird form, hops along the countertop, looking between the two of them.

Yeosang tentatively reaches a finger out to stroke the pretty bird’s back, but he pauses before he makes contact, and decides against it.

The bird transforms immediately after, into a short girl with chunky boots and spiky jewelry to compensate. Her hair is pitch black, but as the lights hit it, it glows iridescent and rainbow-like; just like her feathers did. Unlike most demons, she appears similar to a small teenager rather than a fully grown adult. Honestly, she presents herself the exact same way Yeosang first revealed himself to San.

“Trixie,” she says, voice surprisingly gruff considering her teeny weeny stature. She extends a hand, urging Yeosang to shake it. “Nice to meet you.”

Yeosang stared at her hand, then up at her, then back at her hand. 

She knew what would happen, right? 

Or did she think Yeosang was that gullible? 

Or maybe birds were the exception—he wasn’t really sure.

“Hi, Trixie. I’m Yeosang,” he lifted his hand tentatively. “Nice to meet you.” 

When their hands clasp together, the shock that pulsates through the two of them is enough to rattle their spirits. The pain was so much so fast that they could barely move, only stopping when Yeosang forcefully rips his hand away.

“Shit!” The girl cried, literal tears pricking the demon’s eyes. She blows on her hand. Somehow touching Yeosang scorched her more than pure hellfire. “I didn’t know it was _that_ intense,” she admits with a hiss. “Curiosity kills the cat! Fuck! Damn!”

Angels and demons were naturally repellant, shocking each other upon contact. Though, after some time they could get used to individuals; the shock would become more bearable the more they interacted, until it fades to nothingness.

Trixie had never touched an angel before, and Yeosang had never touched a demon bird before. He didn’t know if they were exempt because of technicalities—like no _hands_ —and the young trickster, Trixie, simply wanted to know how dangerous angels could be to someone like her, the personification of Danger.

They equally played a stupid game and won a stupid prize.

Yeosang clasps his hands together, toying with them anxiously. 

“I’m worried about him,” he finds himself admitting, downtrodden.

“I wish he’d tell me more about the reaper realm, but I’m in the dark, too—he said there’s stuff even witches are better off not knowing,” Eunyoung frowns. “I hope they don’t punish him too severely. He looked scared out of his mind—and he made it seem like punishment was inescapable—so at least, let it be _bearable.”_

Eunyoung rubbed her temples. The image reminds Yeosang of how defeated and beaten Wooyoung looked when he first got the summoning pains. The bells.

Yumi grabbed one of her hands, and the angel tracked the motion, noticing how their black and white nails nicely contrasted each other.

“He’ll be fine! You all need to stop looking so fucking sorrowful,” Trixie stands on the countertop in all her weighted humanoid glory. She stomps, _dancing,_ as if she was making a mockery of their gloom. “You’re worrying about a _reaper’s_ safety! Death incarnate! In a funeral home, no less! Does that make any fucking sense to you? It can’t get more ironic than this!”

The disrespectful demon may have been logically correct, but now wasn’t a time for logic. Wooyoung was _scared_ and that made Yeosang’s entire soul itch with nerves. It was one of those things the angel couldn’t protect, couldn’t have even an inkling of control over. The angel’s chest tightens; it _hurts._


	7. Summons ₚₐᵣₜ ₂

“Jung Wooyoung of the sixth sect, South Korea,” an airy voice calls.

Seemingly appearing out of nowhere, a familiar face greets him with a devious smile and an offered arm.

Wooyoung lets out a sigh of relief. He knows this person; what he doesn’t know is if that makes the situation better or worse, but it comforts him nonetheless, even if the person is just a childhood bully. 

“Choi Haelin.” 

“In flesh and truth,” she says. “Minus the flesh. I’m here to guide you to your trial location. They’ve summoned _me_ to bear witness so this should be interesting.”

Wooyoung locks arms with her, allowing the other reaper to lead the way. He’s bothered by her tone, but knowing her, she doesn’t care one ounce. “You seem quite excited to watch my downfall.”

“Ha! Why wouldn’t I be?” She skips, dragging him roughly for good measure. “Big Boss Death is going to chew you up and spit you out and I’ll finally get to see it firsthand. This is something that makes the most ancient of reapers quake in their boots! There’s not a lot that can piss him off like this so of course I’m _dying_ to see the punishment. You can’t fault me for being curious! I just want to see what can make someone like you truly fearful.”

“So my life is, what, an experiment to you? Just something to satisfy your curiosity?” Wooyoung spits, tugging her back. “You’re as good as a demon.”

“I’m even worse than a demon,” she smiles. “You’ll be tried in the badlands, the cliffs.”

The entire reaper dimension was somewhere in between a solid, liquid, and gas. It was air itself but it was also water, sky, and clouds. It was a cool lava river coated with the most fiery ice imaginable. It was usually comfort and calm, only made excitable by the billions of fluttery reapers encased within. Yet somehow, Wooyoung came to fear its simultaneous emptiness and fullness, its simultaneous calm and chaos that he grew up with. In this instance, it was nothing short of nightmare fuel. 

Wooyoung, in the form of an intangible spirit, still felt his bones melting to goo as Haelin dragged him closer and closer towards the dark sands of the cliffs and canyons. The eternal night sky seemed to still over the area, as if constantly watching. The dark, purple clouds no longer drifted, no longer minded their own business. From this point on, everything was judging him; even the dry, skinny cacti and agitated scorpions that scurried at their immortal feet. The more Wooyoung observed, the more he realized this place was just a bastardization of Earth; but he wouldn’t dare voice that aloud now. It could’ve been a cute joke in another situation, but now it seemed perilous to speak.

Haelin, who had been quietly observing the other reaper, suddenly spoke, still awfully chipper. “Are you scared?”

“Nah, fucking ecstatic,” he lies with an eyeroll, wanting to bite her. “I don’t know why I’m friends with you… it’s pointless.”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause we have the same birthday,” she offers. “We’re agemates, but that’s really all we have in common.”

“Agemates, another pointless connection.” Wooyoung huffs, and Haelin yanks him forward again, edging closer to the cliff. “I don’t even remember our birthday.”

“Me neither,” Haelin swiftly unchains herself, pushing Wooyoung forward so that his body lunges off the cliff, almost plummeting into the abyss if not for his natural levitation.

Wooyoung glares at her, but his focus is quickly taken by the booming voice in the clouds.

Lightning, the only source of light he’s ever known intimately, rains down in every direction, locking him in place as he floats delicately over the endless pool of black. The black of the abyss seemed darker than the black of the rest of the world.

 **“You know, Wooyoung,”** the voice starts, **“I’d never imagine it’d be you to disappoint me like this. Usually, South Korea’s sixth sect performs exceptionally well—but you just had to strive for uniqueness. You wanted to be different so bad, and look at what it cost you. We have a system in place for a reason, Jung Wooyoung! It works! If we abandon that system then what type of order would we have between all these coexisting realms?”**

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to abandon order! I wasn’t trying to do anything!” Wooyoung says. 

**“Exactly!”**

“No! I was trying to do my job!”

Haelin is heard giggling in the background, lightning and wind fly past her hair like a storm. 

**“Wooyoung, if every reaper did what you did, do you know how we’d affect Earth? How we’d overwork the angels and overpower the demons? You know we’re all connected! Without proper deaths on Earth and proper care for the human soul, we’d have trillions of living people crammed into a tiny planet, which is a recipe for disaster—for _all_ of us! If I allow you to walk freely after messing up a simple task—the task you were _born_ to do—then what does that say to everyone else?”**

“I– I’m sorry! I have been trying, it’s just that every time a timely death was near, it was handled by another reaper. You… You can’t fault me because more people are destined to live safer, longer lives these days. I’m only _one_ guy and I’m bound to _one_ area! I’m working with what I _got!”_ Wooyoung argues nervously. “It’s not my fault that some comrades just happen to be a bit quicker than I am. I… I can only apologize for what I have done. Or did not do.”

He knew the argument could easily be refuted, but it was a true statement nonetheless. Death was the original Grim Reaper, and he hadn’t been on Earth since he figured out to make more of himself. He didn’t understand being on the lower end of the chain because he created the chain and often _was_ the chain itself!

 **“Wooyoung, the abundance of reapers is set to a specific ratio to match the human population. It doesn’t matter how many other reapers are in the same area as you, logically, _mathematically,_ there should always be at least one human soul knocking on our door. You have _no_ excuse—“** Wooyoung’s lame excuse was that he was bad at math. **“Admit it, you were distracted.”**

“Distracted?” Wooyoung parrots, chest heaving. The lights of the lightning cage that trapped him made his head spin. “No, I wasn’t. I’m still as dedicated to my job as ever! I love my job. I… I’m _helping…_ I like it.”

 **“You like it, yet you won’t admit you neglected it… not even a little?”**

Wooyoung hated having to defend himself; it left his mind in a flurry. 

“What could possibly distract me? I had only one soul left before my due date! I was anything but distracted!” 

**“Listen, kid. I’m not one for lengthy arguments. You know me. I’m certainly not going to sit here and wait for you to admit something we all know, either. I’m not like Father Goodness up there. I’m going to sentence you straight like this.”**

“Sentence,” Wooyoung bit his lip, wide-eyed.

At those words, the reaper felt sick and rigid, as if the lightning bolt was crawling up his spine like a giant millipede. He was scared of his punishment, and he knows he didn’t make it any better. Like Death said, he didn’t argue much. Wooyoung defending himself was purely for the sake of fairness; it didn’t change anything. He would still be sentenced harshly for a terrible offence. 

**“You will be banished from this realm indefinitely, chained to Earth as if you were a human being. I’ll also be taking away your flight and your tongue.”**

“My tongue—“

As soon as the incredulous words escaped his lips, Wooyoung’s tongue felt heavy and unmovable. The breath in his lungs that was solely for talking and not breathing, became useless, and he found himself mute from all sounds except wails… And wail, he did.

Haelin jumped at the edge of the cliff, intrigued.

“Wow! You tailor-made the punishment just for him!” She notes cheerily. Wooyoung was one of the most loquacious creatures in existence, shutting him and his opinions off was as close to death as you could get him without actually killing him. Cutting him off from the rest of his reaper comrades and friends was just the icing on the cake.

**“You will still be required to reap your final soul for your term; just know that afterwards you will not be returning to me. Every portal you come in contact with will reject you.”**

Wooyoung cries, angrily. 

He suddenly feels so powerless. Amongst humans, he was a being that stirred up the utmost fear and respect; but here, now, knowing he’d be damned to swim amongst those same humans forever—with no freedom of choice—made him realize that he’s still a small player in the grand scheme of things. He wasn’t a Big Bad or a Big Good, he was just a simpleminded Wooyoung who was trying his best. 

And failing miserably, it seems. He shouts again, crying as a throat-splitting sound escapes him—because that’s the best he could do at this point. 

He was dismissed, the lightning cage vanishing, and his body numbly falling thousands of feet down below into the dark abyss. In the darkness, his tears fell slower than he did, looking like blackened rain drops or little insignificant flecks of obsidian. 

He finally lands on his ass, back in the little closet he had hidden into, back at Cho and Cha’s.

He sits there for a while, staring at the urn that’ll never welcome him again—that’ll outright _reject_ him—and he curls in on himself, pondering with teary eyes.

— ✥ —

“Wooyoung!” Eunyoung says, and everyone turns their attention to him. They swarm him with questions he can’t answer—everyone but Trixie being super concerned. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Wooyoung offers a strangled breath as he tries to speak, but he gets nothing except a pitiful squeak from his physical body. 

He had put on a tough face as soon as he had met the group again, but hearing his sorry excuse of a voice made him shudder with emotion.

He found himself aimlessly reaching out for the angel, who grabbed him without a second thought into an embrace that was long overdue.

“Wooyoung, what hap—nevermind... just… just relax… You don’t have to tell me now,” the angel whispers, and the reaper holds him tight as if he’d just go intangible and fly away.

“Okay,” Trixie’s voice intrudes as she stomps over to them. She cringes at Wooyoung’s teary, bloodshot eyes. “It looks like I may have overestimated reapers’ toughness—“

“Nam Trixie!” Eunyoung snaps at her. 

“What!” 

“Shut up! Now’s not the time for your smart mouth!” The witch warns, “Don’t make me seal it.”

Wooyoung’s iron grip on Yeosang tightens. He murmurs and mumbles and his incoherence is unsettling. He’s yammering into the angel’s clothes like he’s entranced and there’s still a heavy dread looming over him. Sound still fights to escape him.

Yeosang doesn’t know what to do to make it stop so he simply doesn’t let go.

“I was just saying whatever the OG Grim Reaper hit him with must’ve been intense! He looks like he’s been dragged through Hell by the feet, and I’d know, because I’ve been dragged through Hell by the feet. I didn’t know anything could pain your type _this_ much,” she looks up at Wooyoung. “I wonder what it is, and I’m not as virtuous as this one,” she gestures to Yeosang, “so I’d like to hear it now. Spill it! Tell me! Tell me what I’d have to do to defeat a reaper, just in case I ever have to fight one!”

“Okay, Trixie, that’s enough,” Yumi warns.

Eunyoung places a hand on her shoulder, calming her. “No, it’s fine.” Digging into her cardigan pocket, she finds an array of pill-shaped potions she’d whipped up specifically for taming her brash companion. She pops a green, leafy pill into her mouth, right under her tongue. It dissolves in six seconds. “That’ll shut her up for the time being.”

Trixie, wanting to say something gravely uncouth, opens her mouth only to find nothing coming out.

“How long does it last?” The human girl inquires.

“Twenty-four hours. Enough for her to stop being so insensitive. Out loud, at least.” The witch says. Luckily, Eunyoung and Trixie were linked, so she didn’t have to chase the demon down and force the pill into her mouth if she wanted her to be quiet and somewhat sensitive; the magic did that for her.

Wooyoung ogles at the demoness who’d just been rendered wordless like him. He looks back to his friend, this witch, and is struck with a single glimmer of hope.

Eagerly he points to his lips. 

Eunyoung doesn’t get it, but Yumi does.

“You can’t talk!” She says, shocked. “I thought you were just… distraught. Oh my God. Eunyoung, maybe you can do something.”

“Try this,” she pulls out a blue pill filled with liquified potion. “I can’t guarantee it’ll work, though.”

Wooyoung takes the chance, swallowing it dry.

Never letting go of the reaper, the angel queries, “The last one took six seconds. This one is the same, right?” 

Eunyoung shakes her head. “This one takes sixty.”

“Okay. Then let’s wait.” Yeosang says calmly. He wanted to sound as optimistic as possible, but they all knew that they were asking a little witch to fight against an order from the Great Grim himself. Realistically, it was a bust. But miracles happened every once in a while, and Yeosang would be no angel if he didn’t believe. 

The sixty seconds were tense, permeated by Trixie’s loud tantrum and stomping feet on the counter.

Wooyoung counted loudly in his head, and as soon as he hit sixty, he shouted.

Silently.

He tried again.

And again.

And again.

Eunyoung looks downcast. “Sorry.” She apologized as if it were really her fault, as if she really did something wrong. 

Yumi rushes off to go grab something. She returns with a notebook and pen held within the spiral. She smiles at the reaper, pretty and lively, looking like the personification of sunshine even in this dismal situation. 

She hands it to Wooyoung politely, with two hands, and holds her smile while she speaks. “Keep this until the muteness wears off. You still have a lot to say and you can still say it. But when your voice comes back, burn it. Okay? It will come back.”

Wooyoung looks at the notebook, dismayed. He offers an unsure hum.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang tries to read his face.

Yumi repeats it with more conviction, like a soldier. “It will come back… Or my name isn’t Cha Yumi, your best and favorite Earth sister.”

— ✥ —

“That thing I saw really scared me,” Mingi explains.

San teases, “Maybe it just didn’t want you two to get your freak on.”

Mingi snorts, “Okay, Missy Elliott.”

Their door is forced open by Yeosang’s brute strength and urgency alone.

“We’re back,” he smiles weakly, the reaper still joined at his hip. “Hi, Mingi.”

“Hi,” the human said slowly, easily reading the newfound tension in the room. Wooyoung can’t seem to look either of them in the eye, and Mingi spits out the question before San can. “Are you okay?”

“He’s… He’s unhurt,” Yeosang answers carefully, engineering his words in a way where he’s not lying.

But Mingi is pretty sharp. There’s different types of ‘hurt’ other than the one a _body_ can experience. 

“But is he okay?” He presses, “Are you okay, Wooyoung?”

The reaper, who can lie freely, nods. But nobody in this room believes him, not even himself.

He breaks down again, much subtler than the first time, but still just as mind-boggling. He rattles and shakes on the small couch, and it leaves Mingi wondering if he did something wrong.

“Can I tell San?” Yeosang asks carefully, staring into Wooyoung’s eyes. The reaper nods. He follows Yeosang’s eyes towards Mingi. “And him too?”

The reaper nods once more.

San was nervous. “What happened?”

“I’d have to start from the very beginning for Mingi to understand,” Yeosang groans, running a hand down his face. “Song Mingi, what do you believe in? What creatures, what beings?”

“Beings?”

“Yes. Celestial bodies, specifically. Do you… Do you believe in harbingers of death?” The angel probes Mingi, but his gaze is on Wooyoung, interlocking their fingers.

“I… don’t,” he answers cautiously.

“Well, you might need to change that belief. It’s so much easier to think of things in a very binary, clean cut way, but… it’s not just angels and demons out there. There’s neutral beings like death reapers—like Wooyoung—out there too,” Yeosang explains. “Before you laugh or dismiss it, I can prove it to you; and San has actually witnessed us firsthand. It was… it was my mistake that led us here, honestly. Wooyoung… he… he was summoned back to his world and he– he got punished—“

“What for?” Mingi is skeptical but not brazen.

“As a reaper, he has a set time to be on Earth and a set amount of souls to collect, known as timely deaths. If he doesn’t meet his quota by the end of his shift…” Yeosang bites his lip and Wooyoung wipes the tears off his cheeks, finally taking a breather. “He… He gets in big trouble and he gets punished by the reaper of all reapers—their _king of kings;_ their common ancestor. Wooyoung’s flight and speech were taken away… and he’s… he’s been banished from his home.”

“What?” San yells.

Both the creatures flinch. They’d rarely felt fear in their lives, but San yelling out of the blue was a legitimate shock.

“Wait, wait, wait. I’m just supposed to believe everything just like that?” Mingi says. “This isn’t the same as a ghost story—“

“Mingi, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I’m already in too deep—I am Choi San’s guardian angel. Every human being has a guardian of some sort. Angels care for you your whole life from a safe distance. Things got complicated between the three of us, so San has known about us for the better part of a month now. We weren’t just some random squatters, but I do apologize for that. I can prove it to you,” Yeosang looks at Wooyoung. “We both can.”

“Yeah… Yeah,” San agrees, still shaken by the fact that one single digit cost Wooyoung his voice, his home, and his flight. The human murmurs, “They can go ghost.”

Mingi, with a slow blink, deadpans. “What.”

The two went intangible right before their eyes, ghostly spirits just hovering over the space where their weighted bodies once sat a mere second ago.

Mingi _shouts._

His screeches only gets louder when their physical forms return, and San has to slap a hand over his mouth. The sight makes Wooyoung crack a smile, a small chuckle escaping him.

That’s good. At least, he can still laugh.

San’s heart still wrenches. This was what Wooyoung was running away from when he was running towards San with a giant scythe. He almost understands now. The human cannot say for certain he wouldn’t do the same thing if he was in that position. Unfair and untimely deaths happen a lot more than anyone would like to admit but it was probably just some desperate reaper trying to stay afloat—trying to stay with their people and not get stuck on Earth as an alien amongst foreigners! San thinks… he would do it for survival too… he would do it to see his family. Maybe.

He doesn’t know what he’d do, but he definitely gets it now.

He gives Wooyoung a hug, something neither of them ever expected he’d do. 

He doesn’t know what he should say, just that he should say something. He has an abundance of words floating around in his brain.

_‘I forgive you.’_

_‘I don’t hate you.’_

_‘I understand.’_

_‘It’ll be okay.’_

But none of those feel _totally_ right. He feels them all as parts of one larger feeling, one that he can’t convey with his limited vocabulary.

So he says nothing, but he let’s the reaper feel his warmth. He’s not scared of him anymore—not when he hasn’t made any more attempts at his life, not when he laughed and tittered with his friends, not when he’s opened San’s eyes to so much, not when he’s tried so hard to be human and friendly and warm! 

When they let each other go, Wooyoung conjures up a tiny notepad and a pen.

He scribbles his words in robotic Korean.

  * **_I messed up. I should’ve left you alone the moment I saw Yeosang._**



Yeosang tensed when he saw it, not knowing what to say to that.

“You went after San?” Mingi says in disbelief. “San!”

San didn’t disagree with the reaper’s statement, but he didn’t like the sound of anyone being so self-depreciating, even a so-called enemy. He couldn’t even let Mingi’s panic get to him. “Wooyoung…”

The reaper holds up the page again, declaring.

  * **_I was distracted._**




	8. Solar

Ever since that day, Wooyoung had retracted in on himself, detaching from everyone in the house. He interacted with Yeosang, but even that was only to the slightest degree and the angel couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand being out of the loop, and even worse, he didn’t like the feeling of uselessness—that ugly feeling that clawed at him when he couldn’t help Wooyoung in any sort of way.

Wooyoung, although only knowing the humans like this for a short time, had already left a deep imprint on them. Even Yunho had questioned his whereabouts. The job that the reaper took purely to pick up souls and appease San became too much for him. Far too much talking and laughing and interaction—whether it be fake smiles towards a customer or legitimate crack-ups at a coworker’s jokes. If there wasn’t a soul ripe for reaping, then Wooyoung didn’t want to plague his eyes with all those tempting bodies.

Honestly, the situation he was in now only made him want to _kill_ someone more, as a way to redeem himself. He wanted his voice back. It’s been a week since he’s flown. He’s never felt so incomplete before; it’s like someone cut him apart—like his legs were torn off and he was ordered to chase them. He felt like he was no longer himself, rather, he was just staring at his physical body, marveling at how _regular_ and _human_ it had become. 

He summoned his scythe. At least the humongous blade wouldn’t leave him. This divine object was probably the most consistent thing in his unending life. 

More consistent than people, reapers, demons, and angels too.

“Put the scythe away,” a soft voice demanded. Speak of the Devil. Light beamed hotly on Wooyoung’s back.

Today was absurdly bright; sunlight leaked through every window like spilled milk, as if the star was making fun of Wooyoung by doing what it does best—brightening the gloomiest of days.

The reaper turns around, glancing up at the angel. He dismisses his weapon and it vanishes into thin air in a puff of smoke.

He sighs in response.

“Come out,” the blond extends a hand, “This isn’t healthy. Let’s get some sun.”

Wooyoung wanted to say he was born in the darkness and everything blooms out of darkness, but that’d be too emo, plus, it’s not like he had a mouth to talk with anyway.

So he huffs and takes the angel’s offered hand.

“Mingi’s been meaning to talk to you. Probably excited to ask you all sorts of questions,” Yeosang says awkwardly, handing the abandoned notepad to the reaper. “He’s hiding in his room right now. But he swears he had an experience with a demon.”

Wooyoung chuckles dryly. 

Yeosang continues, “Please write something. Anything.”

● _**I’m fucking homeless.**_ He wrote smartly, holding it up for the angel to see.

The other frowns. “Not on my watch.”

● **_We’re not what we used to be. You don’t have to care so much._**

Yeosang’s brow twitches. “But I do care and I can’t help but care. Listen Wooyoung, I’m going to help you. I don’t know how but… I will.”

● **_And to think, you weren’t happy to see me in the beginning._**

“I wasn’t,” the angel is curt and brutal. “But I don’t hate you and I don’t want you to suffer. This looks like you’re suffering.”

Wooyoung curiously tries to open his mouth. The sound is horrifying, though the feeling in his throat is even worse. “Sa—“

A coughing fit ensues, as if his body was forcing him to be quiet. It actively rejected comprehensible words, yet it’d allow him to make all sorts of indiscernible sounds. It was one of the stranger curses Wooyoung had received. He loathed it wholeheartedly—and that was rare because the young reaper barely hated anything, not this passionately, at least.

Regardless, the angel still caught his message. 

“San’s on the balcony,” he replied. “I don’t know what’s been going through his head but… it seems like as soon as your mood dropped, his did too. You want to see him?”

The reaper toys with the pen in his hand, thinking. He brought it up to the square-cut paper of the notepad but ultimately thought against it. He didn’t know if he wanted to see the human. What exactly were they supposed to discuss? Or were they just going to sit there and stare at each other with pitiful faces? He didn’t want that; he didn’t need that. Yet he didn’t want to say no. As much as it would bother him to admit, he had come to like being in San’s presence. Over the course of this short month, San felt almost like meeting an old friend; a friend he fell out with but still managed to charm once more. It was something the reaper had never really felt often in regards to people, and if he did, the feeling was fleeting. It was eerily similar to how he felt about the angel, which ultimately drove him to simply nod his head.

So Yeosang and Wooyoung met with a gloomy San on this bright, beautiful day. The wind blew fiercely, making their hair drift through the air as well.

“Sannie,” Yeosang said with unexpected ease. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

The human avoids eye contact, at a loss for words. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt despite him not being at fault. Wooyoung, an ageless beast that surpassed space and time, had just been banished from the one place he called home because San didn’t want to die.

It was _ridiculous._

It was so easy for him, being a braindead college student, to half-heartedly wish for death, but once it arrived at his door in the form of a person, he backed out. It was like some twisted karma from the universe! Now he was left feeling guilty for having befriended the man—the ghost—who just wanted to do his job and go home. 

Plus, from what he understood, it wasn’t even his soul on the line—just his body. 

Nevertheless, it wasn’t selfish to not want to die before your time; that was human nature, pure survival instinct. It wasn’t selfish to be afraid. San had many things left he wanted to do in this life, and he intended to live it to the fullest no matter how hard it got. This looming cloud of sadness was just the empathetic side of San overriding his brain again, making him feel for others when it would actually benefit to be a little selfish. 

“I’m just… apologetic.” 

After all of his mental gymnastics, that was the best explanation he could offer. 

The agent of goodness looks between them, wordlessly, but visibly distraught. He props himself up on the railing and thinks. The tension is prickly and ever-present, like dozens of arrows stabbing through the body.

His human and the reaper he’s known his whole century-and-some-change life were both exuding waves of melancholy. Unfortunately for them, Yeosang was a terrible confidante. He honestly did not know how he got tasked with being a guardian in the first place since he seldom offered sweet words. Most of Yeosang’s love came in the form of actions, and although they spoke louder than words, sometimes the words held more weight... more necessity... more value.

This was a situation where words were needed. 

Yeosang almost cries. 

He didn’t know what to say.

— ✥ —

“Mingi… no,” Yunho disagrees with a giggle.

The other was passionate, nearly yelling at his phone. “Think about it!”

Ever since Mingi had learned of the factual existence of angels, demons, and those in between, he had been adamant that what they saw that night was a demon.

“Min,” Yunho said, “Maybe we were just seeing stuff. There’s a lot of factors at play.”

Mingi juts his lip out even though the other isn’t here to see it. “You would believe me if I said it was a ghost.”

“Maybe. But I’m not scared of either. I don’t even believe in demons; that’s all just human imagination,” Yunho says, awfully chipper for a man with a demon crawling up his windows. “It’s like the Babadook; can’t hurt you if you don’t fear it.”

“Dude, you don’t fear _Satan?”_ Mingi screeched, incredulous.

Yunho laughs heartily, “He should be scared of _me.”_

“Wow,” Mingi’s voice responded, dazed. “You’re a different breed.”

“I know,” the other declares after another round of laughs. “Skip your study groups today.”

“Sheesh, are you asking or telling?”

“Hoping? Begging?” Yunho tries. “Let’s go to the PC café.”

“So I can beat you in every game we play?” Mingi teases.

His boyfriend scoffs. “So, I’ll consider that a date, no?”

“Sure, a nerd date,” the boy hums.

After their conversation, Mingi immediately got online, researching everything he could to drive his point home. He’d convince Yunho one way or the other, because he couldn’t know what he knew _alone._ Something was definitely creeping on them— _stalking them—_ that night. Mingi, as terrified as he was, was still science inclined. He wanted to know what was looking at them and why.

Hopefully, he’d get an answer. What to do after that was beyond him.

— ✥ —

“You look terrible.” 

The bird has the nerve to land on Seonghwa’s shoulder, only hopping off to transform, obnoxiously shedding feathers in his direction.

“Leave me alone, Jinwook.” Seonghwa’s been pouting on the roof for hours; he didn’t need an audience and he certainly didn’t need it to be Jinwook of all people. 

Jinwook pries Seonghwa’s arms apart from their tight fold. “You’re crankier than usual.”

The demon cat furrows his brows. “I’m not cranky. I just haven’t eaten in a few days so I haven’t been feeling like myself.”

Jinwook blinks, “So _cranky._ Why the fuck haven’t you eaten? And how long is a ‘few’ days?”

“It’s my own fault anyway,” the cat turns away from the glaring yellow sun. “We’re not supposed to pick favorites.”

“Favorites?” Jinwook parrots before the idea dawns on him. With a snap of his fingers, he exclaims. “Let me guess! You lost contact with your favorite human snack, didn’t you?”

Seonghwa sheepishly nods, barely moving.

“Maybe,” he grumbles, with his stomach following in tandem.

Hooting with laughter, Jinwook immediately chastises, “Fucking dumbass! If your standards are too high, you’ll never fucking eat!” 

“Be quiet, birdie,” Seonghwa tries to no avail.

“You shut up, kit! How long are you gonna wait before your next meal? Or are you just gonna wait a hundred billion years for a natural death to catch ya?”

“I’ve just been staying away for security purposes. He had someone with him and I didn’t know how long he’d stay.” The cat finds himself explaining.

“Why didn’t you just eat both of their dreams?”

Seonghwa growls, “I _obviously_ would’ve done that if they were asleep!”

He hisses at the direct sunlight to his eyes when he turns to the other.

He wonders why Jinwook was even out and about this early in the day, but he didn’t want the other to get a big head over a simple question. It’s not like Seonghwa was _that_ interested.

Seonghwa grabs one of his thick, black feathers from the ground. He plays with it, finding it ironically soft for someone as callous as Jinwook.

“So, what, you’re just going to wait until he’s alone again before you eat?” Jinwook inquires. “There’s plenty of food in this city and I’m sure there’s plenty who are asleep right now… Or are you so bougie that you only feast on gourmet dreams?”

“Yes, I am,” the cat snaps back sarcastically. 

He’d only eat the custom-engineered dreams from Jung Yunho’s mind; those were the ones he preferred and he’d gladly feast on them until he couldn’t anymore when the man inevitably died.

Something about his dreams were savory-sweet and practically _mirotic._ When Seonghwa discovered the boy, he became dependent on his taste. It fed him well and the other was none the wiser, even greeting Seonghwa in his cat form when he lingered outside his building in the morning.

Honestly, he quite liked the guy. He was gentle. 

“Yo!” Jinwook claps his hands in the other demon’s face while he’s deep in thought. “Go to a daycare or something; you’ll have dozens of little sleeping bastards to feed on.”

Seonghwa snatches the other’s hand, claws extending to dig into the demon bird’s flesh. His hands moved on their own accord. His eyes glowed vibrantly, accentuated by his irritation. Jinwook yowls in pain as the bones of his forearms become uncomfortably close, audibly cracking. 

“You should be quiet,” the cat says, but his iron grip never ceases, nor do the claws digging into the other’s skin. “We’re on top of an office. People below us are trying to work.”

Jinwook gasps when he finally musters up the audacity to look at his arm. It was practically dead. Thick, dark liquid oozed out swiftly, veins were split perfectly in half and sprung out of his skin like blooming flowers. The layers of skin were losing color by the second and the outermost layer had hardened to a leathery texture in an attempt to heal itself. The cat was preparing himself to tear through the rest of Jinwook’s left side before the bird summoned his talons, fingernails sharpening into stiff razors.

He slashed the other’s face, and only then did the cat let go.

Seonghwa cups his cheek, feeling the hot blood seep out onto his palms. He’s unapologetic as he watches the bird heal, skin melding back together and bone hopping back into position. 

The thought of toying with human children was awfully triggering for the feline. He didn’t even consider the idea, much less from someone as devious as Jinwook. Plus, it was unnaturally easy to get violent with the other, despite Seonghwa’s temperament being incredibly docile. He really did it without a second thought. Hell, without a first thought.

Seonghwa wouldn’t be surprised if the bird had some sort of emotion manipulation technique; but as far as he knew, only _dogs_ could do that. Jinwook was just an uncouth, child-eating, demonic bastard. Plain as day.

The shorter demon strides up to Seonghwa, almost levitating. He resembled a villainous silhouette with the sun bright and beaming behind him. 

His eyes were glowing an angry cobalt blue, causing Seonghwa’s red eyes to naturally respond with an equal glow.

“If you _ever_ do that again,” the banggai crow warns with a raised hand, black talons shiny and sleek, “I’ll send you to Hell!”

Seonghwa stands silent for a moment, staring at the hand that’s ready to strike him at any moment. 

“The same goes for you too,” he answers calmly.

The other demon is frantic with his anger, yelling and yapping and full of vigor. “You powerless bastard! You’re the dirt under my shoe! You can’t send me anywhere! Fuck you, Park Seonghwa! You’re even more useless than a human; at least they make good food and entertainment… Shithead!”

The man had heard all of this before. It was neither the first time nor would it be the last. The pair had a talent for pushing each other’s buttons. The cat’s peaceful nature painfully irked the bird’s chaotic whirlwind. 

They truly do not know why destiny kept bringing them within each other’s orbit. They were too repellant—too toxic—to be allies, let alone friends.

Honestly, they couldn’t be any more different.

Jinwook leaps off the building, soaring off. He shouts a series of expletives, punctuating them with one final sentence.

“I hope you starve!”

Morbidly, the cat hopes the bird flies into the flaming sun.

As soon as the other demon is out of eyeshot, he hears a muffled alarm bell ringing. He quickly realizes it’s the office building he stood atop of.

Their fighting must’ve caused a disturbance.

He looks over the edge. Dozens of little bodies evacuated the building. The sidewalk around them darkened as they moved. 

They were sopping wet.

“There’s no fire!”

“What set off the sprinklers?”

“I think the fire department is en route.”

“But where’s the damn _fire?”_

Seonghwa grimaces. This was definitely their fault. It’s what happens when you have poisonous friends.

He sighs, going invisible before using his claws to carefully descend the building. He shook as he crawled, not liking the process at all. He hated climbing and he hated crawling, yet those were other things always in his orbit! He’d have to slip away before the firemen started searching the building.

Oops.

— ✥ —

One day, Wooyoung and Yeosang had hid away in the bathroom to have one of their private supernatural discussions. 

But in reality, it was just Wooyoung brainstorming any and every feasible solution to get his voice back.

● **_Kiss me,_** he had written.

The angel stares at the paper and tilts his head, confused and a bit appalled. It wasn’t like kissing the reaper was a bad thing but… was it really something they should be doing? Would it work? It’d be ludicrous if it did!

“You’re not thinking of…” Yeosang starts carefully, frantic. He’s even more nervous when the reaper nods. His eyes were pleading. The angel bites his lower lip, “We’re not… We don’t do that anymore.”

Wooyoung quickly scribbles on the notepad.

● _**There’s the off chance that it might work.**_

Upon seeing the angel’s hesitant eyes and nervous, twitchy fingers, the reaper clicks his pen again. 

● **_It can only work with you, yknow._**

The blond contemplates it for a moment, brows furrowed adorably before he concedes. _The reaper really believed in fairy tales._

Wooyoung, a man of many talents, gives him the hand sign for ‘thank you.’

The angel had no time to react before the reaper guides his face towards his own.

— ✥ —

“Try this,” San offers the two some overly sweetened coffee. Yeosang grabs for the dark brown one, heavily saturated in chocolate.

“I’ve never really ate before,” he admits, clinking his cup together with San and Wooyoung’s. “Or drank much, either.”

The reaper chuckles as he watches the angel’s face grow more amazed with each sip. 

“You’ve never eaten?” San yelps.

Wooyoung was just as surprised. He and Yeosang were the same age, but Yeosang’s been to Earth _way_ more times than the reaper had; he would think he would try some of the food. If not for hunger, then at least for the sake of curiosity.

Yeosang smiles sheepishly, “No… I… I’ve had coffee… but that was when we first met, formally. I’ve never really had interest in food.”

“Never had interest? Yeosang, can you smell? You’ve never smelled barbeque cooking and got a little bit curious?” 

San’s exaggerated shock draws a laugh out of Wooyoung, from deep within his belly.

Wooyoung is thankful for these two and these little daily strolls. It’d become a tradition, his comfort. They’d been determined to console him after he lost his voice and treat him as if nothing was really different. They treated him like friends. Wooyoung didn’t know why San was fighting so hard for his happiness—of all people—but it made him appreciate the act all the more. It confused him, but he enjoyed it. Even Yeosang, his angel, didn’t owe the reaper a thing. Yet he was treating Wooyoung like another one of his humans, only receiving the utmost care and love and respect. Wooyoung’s mind was swirling with emotions, and although he was soulless, he felt like his heart could burst like dynamite on the spot.

He couldn’t believe he wanted to kill San at one point.

He couldn’t believe that deep down, he _still_ wanted to kill the boy. 

Selfishly, he wanted to get that last soul, especially if it meant getting his voice, flight, and access to his homeland back.

His eyes darken and he looks away from San and Yeosang. They were too bright, walking through the streets light as air while dragging Wooyoung, a hefty stone, behind them towards some invisible utopia.

He felt guilty because he wanted blood. He rubs his stomach and feels it rumble quietly. He wanted to eat; he wanted a _soul._

“Woo?” Yeosang hooks his arm around the other. “You okay?” 

The packed streets seemed to still as a blaring siren screeched.

The telltale flashing lights and the scent of impending death is enough to make Wooyoung drop his drink.

He runs, chasing the ambulance. There was not another reaper in sight. No competition, an easy win!

“Wooyoung!”

In the confusion of the scene, the reaper had managed to go invisible and summon his scythe. Using supernatural forces alone, he was able to keep up with the red truck.

He wouldn’t let this one get away. This was a timely death, a proper one—as bad as those paramedics wanted to, they couldn’t save this one.

Their clock had run out.

Wooyoung would reap the soul and send it off to the afterlife it was destined to live in. 

And he’d savor his twenty-five percent.

Now standing atop the moving ambulance as it whizzed through the streets, Wooyoung could hear the EKG’s whiny beeps. They were few and far between. He could feel the panic oozing off the medics in waves. The driver applied even more pressure to the pedal, jolting all of them forward.

The person was dying… they had a single good minute left.

There were five heartbeats thumping in his ears, one of them significantly weaker than the others. 

Three seconds left.

The wind blew his hair out of his face, allowing his eyes to pinpoint the target perfectly.

He lifts his mythical harvesting tool and swings it down in one swift motion. It slips right through the metal roof of the ambulance, cutting the soul out of the body with swift ease.

The reaper grabs it. He studies it.

His knees weaken at the sight, and without much thought, he takes a bite into the glowing orb, before tossing it up into the cosmos with unparalleled aim. It was a reaper’s aim, no doubt.

He glances at the blade of his scythe and sees the final tally mark of his shift.

He hops off the emergency vehicle, expecting to land in the middle of traffic. Instead, he levitates.

Flight! He realizes it with a sharpness. He was flying! He shouts giddily, hopping up a few extra feet just because he could.

He hugs his silver scythe close, beaming. Staring at his reflection in the metal, he tries to shout his name.

 _My name is…_ he tried.

 _Jung Wooyoung…_ to no avail.

He still couldn’t talk.

“Woo!” Yeosang called out from the east. “What are you doing? You just ran off!”

The ghostly angel rushed to his side, noticing the flight. A puzzled look paints his statuesque features and the reaper wishes he could explain.

Yeosang stares at his chest while he heaves like he ran a marathon. It was always a sign that something momentous had happened whenever one of them took such laborious breaths.

The reaper’s glee dies down when he tries to explain himself and only elicits a strained squeak. “Ah.” 

That’s it; that’s all. Ah.


End file.
